Chuck Versus The Road To Innocence
by Liam2
Summary: When an old friend breezes into town, Team Chuck gets taken for a ride - whether they like it or not. Chapter Twenty: "Dry Run" - Rachel takes Ellie out for a lesson in seduction. Meanwhile, Chuck and Sarah try to reestablish their relationship.
1. Very Strange

_Okay, here's how it is. This story picks up sometime after "Chuck versus Santa Claus". Our favorite duo have hashed out the Mauser situation and come out a little stronger on the other side. Use your imagination as to how this happened. (Okay, seriously, why are so many of you imagining drunken sex right now? Perverts.) _

_While "Unexpected" was a multi-part fic, this is my first true attempt at a serialized story since writing C/A fic in the Angel-verse. That's been years and years ago. So be kind. Feedback is greatly appreciated and will probably dictate how quickly I progress with this fic. _

_Final note, if you like this fic, give some major kudos to both BillAtWork and tshdow. Both have done some great betawork and have provided numerous thoughts and ideas to this story. _

_So, get comfortable, grab a moe-hee-toe, and enjoy._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Liam_

--------

CHAPTER ONE: VERY STRANGE

Sometimes Ellie didn't quite know what to make of Sarah Walker.

Ellie loved the girl, she really did. Even asked the lovely blonde if she'd be a bridesmaid at her wedding. And the fact she so obviously adored her brother was just aces in her book.

But sometimes, Ellie couldn't shake the feeling something was off about Sarah. Naturally, there was the question of how a woman in the food service industry could afford a Porsche. She never received a direct answer, only vague references to family money.

Then there were the semi-frequent glimpses of something more. Sarah obviously had some taste of an elite lifestyle. She had a vast knowledge of high-class women's fashions. Had at least a working fluency of several European languages. And the way she carried herself spoke of something greater than a middle class upbringing.

That being said, the girl obviously adored her brother. Not that Ellie thought it was beyond the realm of possibility a girl of Sarah's hinted caliber could love him. Even going back to high school, many of Ellie's friends commented on how cute he was. If he wasn't such a dork, they might like to go out with him.

Yet, even with Sarah's obvious affection, there was something strange about their relationship. Not so much a false note, but rather... Honestly, Ellie didn't know how to describe it.

Tonight, for instance. Poker night. Just her, Devon, Chuck, and Sarah playing Texas Hold 'Em and drinking booze until 2 AM. Sarah was, quite frankly, wiping the floor with them. As Ellie watched her, it was almost like watching Daniel Craig in "Casino Royale". While she let loose with the occasional teasing remark letting everyone know how well she was doing, mostly she coolly analyzed her cards and sipped at her red wine.

"Two pair," she slyly declared. She flipped over her pocket Jack and eight, pairing them with the community cards. She chuckled as she raked in her winnings. Chuck tossed aside his pocket cards in frustration.

"If you loved me you'd let me win once in awhile," he pouted.

"Sorry, sweetie. Men are temporary, victory is forever."

"I can drink to that," Ellie retorted. She and Sarah laughed and clinked their wine glasses together in salute.

"Jeez, Sarah, where'd you learn to play poker?" Devon asked.

Sarah shrugged slightly. "I worked as a dealer for three months at a casino in Monte Carlo."

For instance, the way Chuck looked at Sarah when she made that comment. Almost like he couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Ellie found that odd considering they'd been dating for over a year. Even Ellie couldn't judge from her tone.

Devon, of course, was oblivious. "That's awesome. Chuck, I tell you, this one's a pistol."

"You have no idea," Chuck replied, a strange lilt to his voice. Something Ellie noticed fairly often when he spoke of Sarah.

Strange. Very strange.

Sarah poured the last of the red wine into her own glass. It only came about half-full. "Darn. Out of booze."

"Oh, I'll get another bottle," Ellie offered. Maybe some more alcohol would clear her head.

-----------------------

As had become tradition when Sarah slept over, she didn't bother to bring her own sleeping clothes. Instead, she grabbed one of Chuck's baggy old Stanford t-shirts and disappeared into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and rinsing away her makeup, she returned to the bedroom to find Chuck watching _The Twilight Zone_ on SciFi. Some woman was chasing around a little spacesuit man around her cabin.

"Nice to have a day off tomorrow," she said.

"Mmm hmm," Chuck sleepily replied.

Sarah slid into bed, fluffed up her pillow, and settled in.

"Wanna catch a matinee at the multiplex tomorrow? Maybe follow it with an early supper? My treat."

"Sounds nice," Sarah yawned.

"But I get to choose the movie this time."

Sarah shot him a look. "What? Why can't I pick? It's my turn."

"Because I don't want to watch _Twilight _for a third time."

Sarah opened her mouth, ready to object. Instead she snapped it closed, folded her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. Chuck instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"C'mon. You know I'm gonna buy the DVD for you, right?"

Sarah couldn't help the silly smile that appeared on her face. Placated, she asked, "Really?"

"Really." As Chuck slipped into bed next to her, "You know, you continue to ruin my image of you as a badass superspy."

"Hey, I'm a girl. I'm allowed to like stupid and girly things. Feel privileged that I'm comfortable enough with you to admit that."

Chuck nodded. Fair point. "I also thought after dinner we could go to the beach and watch the sunset."

Sarah smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

The two settled into bed. Sarah angled slightly on her left side, her left arm tucked underneath her pillow, clutching an imaginary pistol. Chuck turned on his right side, facing Sarah. They shared a sleepy smile.

"Night Sarah," he said.

"Night Chuck," she answered.

Both turned their heads to the light fixture on the wall where they knew a video and audio recorder was hidden. "Night Casey," they said in unison.

Neither could be sure, but both thought they heard a grunt in the distance.

-----------

She had heard the rumors for months. A Human Intersect. A single individual with the combined knowledge of the US intelligence community stored in his or her brain.

The prevailing rumor was that Bryce Larkin was that person. But she didn't buy it. Larkin was a tremendous agent, highly intelligent. But she couldn't see him as the Intersect. Not after reading his personnel file (which burned about a dozen favors to acquire).

The woman grabbed her pack of Marlboros and lit one. Took a deep drag as she considered the situation.

It started with Larkin. She knew for a fact he destroyed the Alpha Intersect. She was pretty damn sure that beforehand he made a copy of the information. Now he'd want to send the Intersect info to someone he could trust. But not an agent. Couldn't be sure he or she wasn't Fulcrum.

The woman continued to puff as she wore a hole in the carpet of her seedy motel room.

The buzz inside the upper circles of the Agency was that they still had access to the Intersect information. Which meant that somewhere a CIA agent was directly involved with the operation. And for something as big as a Human Intersect – if, in fact, there was a Human Intersect – they would send one of their best to safeguard that person.

Taking herself out of the equation, for obvious reasons, she took a scratch piece of paper and began to jot down the names of possible agents. Jenny Acker, Warren Dorsey, Bryce Larkin, Tommy Malone, Natalie Martinez, Peter Tate, Sarah Walker, and Charlie Zane were among the first wave of names. Twenty minutes later, she added another half dozen to the list.

It took several more favors, but she was able to acquire a temporary passcode into the CIA's Operations Database. It was simply a matter of tracking down the locations or assignments of the agents on her list.

A couple were in DC riding the "bench" as they waited for new assignments. Scratch them off. A couple others she could reasonably ascertain were on assignment abroad. She felt comfortable scratching them off. Then there was...

Hold on. The woman typed "Walker, Sarah" in the search box again and hit Enter. The results page insisted "No Results Found".

Yahtzee.

They took her out of the system, put her under the radar. Which meant one of two things: Either Walker turned Fulcrum, which she seriously doubted, or she was running a domestic operation, "officially" a no-no in the CIA's book.

The woman grabbed her cell phone and activated it. She only had a few more favors to call in, so she had to make them count. It was absolutely imperative that she found Sarah and the Intersect. And she had to find them fast.

END PART

_I've got 8 chapters completed, more or less, but because my writing schedule could be a touch sketchy, I'm probably going to keep to a certain publishing schedule. I may post Chapter 2 tomorrow, but after that, look for new chapters approximately every five days._


	2. The Last Day of the Illusion of Normalcy

Like "24", I come at you with a two-night premiere event before going to a regular schedule. Please, enjoy Chapter 2 and give me lots of feedback.

Oh, and I added a last minute bit of Chuck trivia into Chapter One. Surprised no one caught it. It had to do with the names the Mystery Woman researched. The person who gets it will get an attaboy (or attagirl) from me.

CHAPTER TWO: THE LAST DAY OF THE ILLUSION OF NORMALCY

"You gotta love my foresight," Chuck said as he withdrew a blanket from the trunk of the Porsche.

"Among other things," Sarah smiled back.

Leaving their shoes in the car, they hit the beach. It wasn't long before Chuck felt comfortable enough to take her hand in his own. They shared an easy smile as they walked along the shore, wet sand between their toes. After ten minutes, Chuck found the perfect spot. It'd been a couple minutes since they'd spotted any other person. He spread the blanket over the sand and the pair made themselves comfortable.

They watched the sun dip in the horizon. The brilliant hues of sunset. Sarah had to give Chuck credit. The boy may proudly declare himself a nerd, but he wasn't without a few romantic ideals. This time it was Sarah who initiated the handholding.

"Good day," she whispered. He looked at her curiously. Sarah blushed. "Movie. Good food. Romantic sunset. When'd you get so smooth?"

"Well, I've watched you for over a year now. Like to think I've picked up a few things."

A kiss felt like the thing to do. But just before their lips could touch—

_RingRingRingRing_

"Karma, what'd I ever do to you?" Chuck bemoaned. Sarah chuckled in sardonic agreement as she reached for the iPhone in her pocket. Checking the caller ID, she informed, "It's Casey."

"Never normal," Chuck sadly voiced.

"Never normal," Sarah agreed. Lifting the phone to her ear, "Yeah... Fine. Be there in twenty." She tucked the phone away. "New job," she regretfully informed. "Thank you, Chuck."

"For what?"

"For this moment. Or near moment." A beat. "At least this time there wasn't any violence _during_ our date," Sarah pointed out.

"Step in the right direction," Chuck ruefully acknowledged.

-----------------

She could have been an average restaurant diner. Well, perhaps not average. She was far too beautiful to ever be labeled as average. Nearly 5'10, athletic build, dark red hair, pale skin, bright green eyes.

Rachel Roe chose this Mexican restaurant specifically for its streetside dining patio. Or rather, the view the patio offered of the apartment block across the street.

After enjoying a plate of _carnitas de puerco_, Rachel kicked back with a beer and cigarette. Lighting a Marlboro, and ignoring a few pointed looks of disapproval from other diners, she spared a quick glance at her watch. If it was gonna happen, it would happen soon. Within ten minutes.

It had taken some doing, but Rachel finally derived that Sarah Walker's immediate supervisor was NSA General Diane Beckman. Just hearing that news made Rachel think she was on the right track. A joint operation meant something big.

Rachel knew the information packet she e-mailed should have been routed to Beckman earlier that afternoon. Assuming Washington took a couple hours to analyze, followed by a quick mission debriefing of the local Los Angeles team, Rachel figured the show should start shortly.

That, of course, was assuming there was still an Intersect. The Washington team would naturally come up with nada. To them, the info packet would just be a garble of unrelated data. However, if there _was_ an Intersect, the data would make perfect sense to him or her. And it should lead them here, to this apartment complex, where a small cell of Fulcrum agents was operating. Rachel just hoped she hadn't miscalculated...

Then it happened. Several black vans and SUV's came rumbling down the street. Even Joe Blow could identify the arrival of a heavy duty tactical assault team.

Even in the darkness of night, the streetlights were bright enough so that Rachel spotted her immediately. Sarah was still a beauty. Cool, confident, and ready to rock. And was that... John Casey? Oh baby. He was one NSA Agent Rachel never had a problem _liaising _with. Oh, that week in Krakow...

And who was that other piece of sexy with them? Tall with dark, wavy hair. Blue jeans, tight red t-shirt. He definitely seemed out of place in comparison to the battle ready assault team.

He was an asset. No doubt Miss Walker was playing the part of the doting girlfriend, while Mr. Casey was the bruising bodyguard. And for that boy to have the CIA's Golden Girl and the NSA's baddest Cold School killer on his protective detail...

"He's the Intersect," Rachel breathed. Then, from somewhere else on the patio—

"Devon. My God. Is that Chuck?"

Rachel turned to find the voice. A beautiful brunette with olive skin and a passing resemblance to the Intersect. Sister? She sat with a very sexy and fit young man.

"Was that John Casey and Sarah?" he asked in return, equally perplexed.

Interesting, Rachel thought. Sister and... boyfriend? Oops. Not with that rock on her finger. Fiancé. That could prove useful, completely unexpected and unplanned as it were. Maybe the Fates were on her side for once.

Gunfire. A quick burst from the fourth floor across the street. Rachel saw Devon and Sister jump at the sound. Much as she'd like to watch the after party, she really had to be going. While everyone's focus was on the apartment across the street, Rachel tossed a couple twenties to the table, snubbed out her cigarette, and slipped away.

----------------

"Can I be honest?"

"Yeah."

"There's something about a beautiful girl in black BDU's and body armor that drives me wild."

"Oh, Chuck, if I had a dime for every time I've heard that..."

Despite the fact Casey was still at the Castle debriefing the General, despite the fact no one was out in the apartment courtyard to watch them, Chuck and Sarah held hands.

"Really? Lots of guys come up to you complimenting your Kevlar?"

"It's a male driven business," she answered simply.

As they walked the courtyard, a strange lull in the conversation rolled in. Neither quite sure what to say. Finally, Sarah offered:

"Thanks again for today. I know things didn't end the way..."

"It's okay," Chuck interrupted. "We take what we can get, right?"

Sarah nodded morosely. "Right."

"How about I throw some popcorn in the microwave and we watch some Comedy Central? I think Neil DeGrasse Tyson is on Colbert again tonight."

A smile reappeared on her face. "Sounds like a plan," she decided.

When Chuck opened the apartment door, both were struck by the strange sight. Ellie and Devon, sitting in the dark, each drinking a glass of wine and looking confused.

"Hey guys," Chuck drawled. "What's going on?"

"Good question," Ellie said. "What the hell was that tonight?" Off Chuck and Sarah's confused looks, she clarified. "At the apartment complex across from the Mexican restaurant."

In all her years of medicine, Ellie never saw anyone pale so quickly, let alone two people. She saw the look they shared and understood it. Both were racking their brains, searching for a convenient lie. At the same instant, both realized there wasn't one.

"When it rains..." Sarah breathed.

---------

Ellie was on her third glass of wine, but the alcohol still wasn't helping her wrap her mind around the situation. One look at Devon told her the feeling was mutual.

"Chuck is an analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency?"

Chuck stayed out of it, deferring the answering of all questions to Sarah. For her part, she easily spun a mostly truthful version of events, minus the fact his brain was the government's ultimate supercomputer.

"And you and Casey are CIA Agents."

"Actually, Casey is NSA. Long story."

It was Devon's turn to ask. "So you and John are like... bodyguards?"

"The term is handler. Because of Chuck's unique abilities, it's necessary that he have a constant security presence. Casey is there for protection at work, I'm there during off-hours."

"So you're not really his girlfriend?" Ellie bemoaned. "Damn. I really liked you."

"Well, that's a long story, too," Sarah vaguely stated.

"Can you tell us the nature of your work?" Devon asked.

"No, I can't. I can say, however, that Chuck has been instrumental in thwarting numerous threats to national security. Ellie, your brother's a real hero. His actions have saved countless number of lives. Including mine, several times."

Ellie glanced over to find her brother blushing at Sarah's words. She knew her brother could do great things, had said so on numerous occasions. Still, she had difficulty reconciling the man she had known since his unfortunate expulsion from Stanford with the man Sarah was talking about.

Then she looked back to Sarah to find her watching Chuck. Admiration, pride, even love shining plainly in her eyes. In that instant, as unfathomable as it might seem, Ellie realized every word that poured from Sarah's mouth was the truth.

"So all those nights. All that strange behavior. Coming home with various nicks and bruises. It was because of this?" Chuck merely nodded. "You couldn't even tell me? Your own sister?"

"Ellie, I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Ellie, if you want to be angry, please, be angry at me," Sarah pleaded. "Chuck is a very important asset to our government. So much so that we needed to keep his very involvement with us quiet. To reveal any information about his activities, even an acknowledgement that he works for us, could potentially put him and his loved ones in danger."

"Should I be angry?" Ellie asked. "Because I don't know. Tonight I watched my sweet brother, someone who I've dedicated the last 15 years of my life protecting and nurturing, storm into a building with a SWAT team where minutes later there was a hail of gunfire." She looked squarely at Sarah. "Should I be angry at you? Should I hate you? How many nights have there been like tonight? Nights where my brother has been confronted by men with guns? How often is his life in danger?"

Sarah crossed the room and knelt on the floor at Ellie's feet. She captured the doctor's hand in her own.

"Listen to me. This is a tough job. And for someone who's had no formal training, your brother has done nothing but rise to the occasion. Yes, that sometimes puts him in dangerous situations. But I want to tell you something. As his handler, I have been tasked with Chuck's safety, to protect him at all costs, even at the expense of my own life. I swear to you, if it came to that, I would make that choice in a heartbeat and be glad to do it."

"That should make me feel better," Ellie admitted, "but I'm still stuck on the part where you admitted he's put in dangerous situations."

"Yeah. I sometimes get stuck on that, too. But if anyone tries to hurt your brother, I swear, I will run the bastard down like a dog on the highway."

Everyone's brows, even Chuck's, lifted at the graphic description.

"So what?" Devon asked. "Are we supposed to pretend like tonight never happened?"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do. Go on with your lives. Go to work, go on dates, plan your wedding. Chuck will do the same." She saw Chuck's brows lift again. "Well, not plan his wedding." Sarah blushed. Chuck just wore a big old grin. "Oh, shut up, Chuck." Gathering herself, "The routines and patterns that have been set must be maintained. And it's absolutely vital that everything you've seen and heard tonight be kept under lock and key. Am I understood?"

Ellie nodded. So did Devon.

Sarah sighed, satisfied, that job done. "Okay then. Now for the tough part."

"Tough part?" Ellie asked.

"Yeah. Where I get reamed out by my boss because Chuck's cover took a major hit."

Chuck leapt from his spot at the kitchen table and approached her.

"Do you have to tell Beckman?"

"Yes." Chuck ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Sarah could sympathize. She knew worst case scenarios were running through his head. "Chuck, the situation has changed. Your family knows too much." With a pointed look at Ellie and Devon: "I don't mean to alarm anyone, but that's a bad thing. If someone, somehow gained knowledge of that, they could be leveraged against you. Beckman must be informed. Contingency plans must be devised. Look, Chuck, I don't like it any more than you do. But if I withhold this information, the consequences the CIA and NSA enact could be severe."

Chuck leaned in, whispered so his family couldn't hear, "Bunker?"

"For you guys," she softly replied. "As for me? They wouldn't trust me anymore. And it's not good for an agent when the bosses don't trust you." A beat. "Come on. Walk me out?"

Sarah took Chuck's hand and led him to the door. He was obviously still distressed, but managed a moment of humor. Looking back at Ellie and Devon, "Guess since they know the score we don't have to pretend around them anymore."

"I guess so," Sarah answered. Looking directly into Chuck's eyes, she kissed his cheek and wrapped him in a hug. Whispering into his ear, "Everything will be okay. Beckman isn't a complete robot. She won't lock you all away. I won't let her."

Chuck hesitated a moment, then blurted, "Is what you said true? Would you actually give your life to save mine?"

"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. Then, with a rueful smile, "Though that ain't exactly Plan A." A look of disbelief flashed across Sarah's face. "Tell me I didn't just reference _Serenity._"

Chuck snorted a laugh. "Oh, but you did."

"God. Look what you've done to me. Turned me into a big, damn dork."

"Yeah, I've known you awhile now. I feel fairly confident that you were a dork long before we met. I've merely lured the beast out of hiding."

Sarah couldn't contain the burst of laughter. But when she noticed Ellie and Devon's shocked, dumbfounded expressions, she reigned in her amusement. "I need to go," she said. "There's the ass chewing from Beckman to deal with. Probably another debriefing with Casey to explain the situation. Then I need to get some sleep. I open the Orange Orange tomorrow."

"You could always come back here after the briefing. Save you the trouble of driving home."

Sarah paused to consider it. Probably wasn't a good idea. But still-- "Leave me a sleeping shirt in the bathroom?"

Chuck smiled, and feeling bold, returned Sarah's kiss with one of his own. "Sure. The maroon Stanford shirt you like."

--------

"What do you mean, _THEY KNOW_?" Beckman bellowed.

Inside Casey's apartment, Sarah had initiated a teleconference. The General responded from her home computer, obviously woken from a deep sleep, and all the angrier for it.

"It was an unavoidable circumstance, General," Sarah explained. "Simply a case of wrong place, wrong time. There was no way to anticipate Ellie and Devon's presence at the restaurant."

Beckman cooled. Some.

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth. Or an abridged version of it. I simply stated Chuck was an analyst. No mention of the Intersect. No mission details."

Beckman nodded.

"Your assessment?"

"They'll keep quiet. Both care for Chuck deeply. Neither will do anything to compromise him."

"What of you and Casey?"

"I explained our presence as being his loyal protectors. I foresee no issues on that front. I made it quite clear the status quo must remain in tact. However, I do believe countermeasures must be devised in the event hostile forces discover they have knowledge of Chuck or us. Extraction procedures, should the need arise to move them to a secure location."

"Agreed. I'll have a team create extraction scenarios. Debrief Major Casey on this development. I want to reconvene at noon Pacific Time for another briefing."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Beckman out."

-------------

It was nearly two am when Sarah quietly opened Chuck's bedroom door. She stealthily made her way into the bathroom, rinsed away her makeup, brushed her teeth, and stripped away her clothing, donning her usual Stanford t-shirt.

Very carefully, Sarah tried to slip into bed without waking Chuck. As usual, he seemed to sense her presence.

"Hey you," he whispered. "How's your ass?"

"Not as sore as I thought it'd be," Sarah joked.

Both turned on their sides, so they could face each other.

"Think when we wake in the morning this will all be a dream?" he asked.

"I really hope so. I mean, the part where your sister and Devon know, not the movie and dining and sunset part."

"Yeah, me too."

Underneath the blankets, two hands moved closer together, until fingertips barely touched. They shared a smile, then fell asleep.

END PART


	3. A Forced Perspective

_Decided to post this part a day early because, well, I wanted to. Keep the reviews coming, my little ferrets. Oh, and special props go to _brickroad16 _for keeping the moe-hee-toe tradition alive in the 5th chapter of the fic "Seven Times". If you haven't read that fic, then four out of five doctors agree there might be something wrong with you. _

CHAPTER THREE: A FORCED PERSPECTIVE

Breakfast was... strange. At least it was for Ellie and Devon. Chuck and Sarah made of decent go at levity and normalcy. Which is probably why it was strange for the former two.

"Toasted bagel with cream cheese. Glass of OJ."

Sarah accepted the breakfast from Chuck with a smile. The man knew what she liked.

"Good call saying I should leave a spare Orange Orange uniform here," Sarah said. "It'd be a pain to race across town just to get dressed."

"Well, regardless of popular opinion, I have been known to show consideration and forethought."

"A few of your more charming character traits," Sarah admitted. "Do you need a ride to work?"

"No, I have second shift today."

"Can you come by a little early? We have a meeting scheduled at noon."

"Mmm. Vaguely Oriental inspired yogurt and a meeting with the head honcho. How can I pass that up?"

"Well, you took me to a movie and Italian dinner. I thought I should return the favor."

"Seriously, you shouldn't have. I mean that, from the bottom of my heart. "

Ellie and Devon watched the repartee in disbelief. "How can you do this?" Ellie asked. "How can you act this way? After last night, after everything you told us...?"

"I find when confronted by dangerous situations a little humor goes a long way," Chuck said. "Of course, denial goes even further."

Ellie looked to Sarah. The blonde shrugged. "It's not the technique they teach at the Academy, but it works for him." A beat. "Works for me, too."

"Can't you resign?" Devon asked. "No offense, dude, but despite what I saw last night, you don't strike me as the gunfire type."

"No offense taken. That's why I usually stay in the car." Chuck barely flinched at Sarah's muffled guffaw. "Anyway, I don't have a choice about my employment. I was kinda... conscripted."

Neither Devon nor Ellie missed the flash of guilt that flickered across Sarah's face.

"Did she...?" Ellie asked, nodding to Sarah.

"No!" Chuck denied. "Come on, it's Sarah. You know her better than that."

"If you say so."

Ellie didn't mean for it to sound cruel. In truth, Sarah knew exactly where the comment was coming from. But that didn't stop it from hurting like hell. She pushed aside her breakfast. Grabbed her phone and car keys.

"I gotta go. See you at noon?"

"Sarah..."

She was gone before Chuck could make an appeal. He turned to Ellie, exasperated.

"Ellie, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry!" Chuck could tell she truly was. "It's just— I just found out your girlfriend is a CIA operative. I mean, how well can you truly know her? How well can any of us know her? And this world you're living in, the world she's a part of- God, I'm scared for you, Chuck!"

"Look, I know Sarah! I've spent the last year with her. Sure, there are facts about her that I don't know and probably never will. Her real name for instance. But I know her. I know she's a sucker for old black and white movies, interestingly enough, Cary Grant flicks and the Universal monster movies. Her favorite flower is the gardenia, her favorite weapon is the Benelli M3 Super 90 semi-automatic shotgun, though she doesn't get much chance to use it. She has a bizarre fascination with teenage oriented novels, particularly supernatural romances. Scrolling through her iPod, I can tell she loves early 90's grunge rock. Oh, and despite the fact she comports herself as the consummate professional, a tough as nails agent, she still likes to be told she looks beautiful in an evening dress. I theorize it's because she hasn't had many people tell her that. At least, not by people who didn't have ulterior motives."

Chuck took a deep breath before going on.

"As for the world I'm living in, yeah, it's scary as hell. Truth be told, I'd rather run and hide. But since I don't have much choice in the matter, I might as well do what I can, because if I don't, people could die. As for Sarah, she is not responsible for dragging me into this world. She has saved my life more times than I can count. Frankly, she's the main reason why I'm still sane. It's through her compassion that I've gotten through all this."

Ellie sat quietly, staring at her coffee cup. Softly, she asked, "Can I... Is it okay if we hug?"

Chuck pretended to debate it. "Oh... alright."

Ellie practically ran into his arms, burying her face in his chest. She squeezed him so tight he feared he might turn blue.

"There, there," he said, patting her back.

As Ellie continued to squeeze, Devon thoughtfully sipped his coffee.

"So, when you go on a date, do you buy her gardenias or a box of ammo?"

Chuck thought for a moment. "Depends on the occasion."

----------------

The noon meeting went... well. Beckman only busted out a couple more scathing criticisms regarding the previous night's events. She also declared that the mission status wasn't compromised to the point where relocation of Chuck was necessary. Since the entire Bartowski apartment was already under surveillance, and because Devon and Ellie had passed extensive background checks, it was deemed that Sarah and Casey could adequately provide cover to all three.

"Great," Chuck joked lamely, "I put incarceration in a secluded bunker off for another day."

On most days, the three would make lunches at home and store them in the Orange Orange freezer. On this day, only Casey brought a lunch. Chuck stopped by Quizno's to grab lunch for himself and Sarah. So as they sat around the counter, Casey was left to eat a chilled pastrami sandwich, enviously watching his counterparts eat something warm.

"It's a matter of appearances," Chuck explained. "A boyfriend is expected to bring a turkey sandwich, easy on the mayo, on toasted bread to his girlfriend at work. If I bring you something, well, then that's just weird."

Sarah bit into her sandwich, making sure to add an extra look of satisfaction as she chewed. "He's right, Casey. It'd just be weird."

"Of course, if you'd slipped me a ten this morning and said _'Hey Bartowski, how's about picking me up a sub on your way to_ _the meeting?_', that wouldn't have been weird."

"He's right, Casey," Sarah chimed in. "That wouldn't have been weird."

Casey offered Grunt #7, a long, exaggerated rumble. The sort of sound a bear makes when it's woken prematurely from hibernation. He really hated it when Bartowski and Walker ganged up on him.

The door jingled to announce the arrival of a new customer. Sarah pushed aside her sandwich and said, "Welcome to Orange Orange, how are... Rachel? What are you doing here?"

Chuck and Casey both turned to look. In walked a beautiful redhead wearing skintight black jeans and white t-shirt. Chuck turned and looked curiously at Casey when he muttered, "Oh baby."

"Sarah Walker," the redhead smiled. "How are you, babe?" Then, with a coy smile to Casey, "Hey Johnny. Miss me?"

Chuck and Sarah shared a look. Johnny?

"You stood me up in Dresden, Johnny," the redhead continued. "Hurt my feelings. I really thought we shared something special in Krakow."

"Yeah. And I was on antibiotics for two weeks because of what we shared."

Redhead simply turned to Chuck and Sarah, completely unperturbed by Casey's crude comment. "He loves me," she smiled, sauntering towards the NSA agent. She then straddled him, gripping the counter behind him for leverage. Casey looked completely entranced by her. Then suddenly, Red's expression turned serious. Casey squirmed.

"I'm only gonna ask once, okay? When you stood me up in Dresden, was it because of Carina?"

"No ma'am," Casey gulped.

Red seemed to judge his truthfulness. "Was it because of Margot?"

"Yes ma'am," Casey shyly admitted.

Red nodded, relieved. "Okay then. Long as it wasn't Carina. I hate that bitch. But Margot, she's a good girl." She planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "I forgive you."

"Okey-dokey," Casey mumbled.

Chuck looked to Sarah. Both were equally shocked as they together mouthed "Okey-dokey?"

Then, suddenly upbeat, Red dismounted and plopped down on the neighboring stool. Casey, who looked bewildered and out of breath muttered, "I should get back to work."

He hurriedly made a beeline for the door, but stopped when Red called out, "Johnny!" With his hand on the door, Casey looked back. "You are one NSA agent I always enjoyed _liaising _with."

The beginnings of a goofy smile appeared on his face. He was about to wave goodbye when he finally realized that Chuck and Sarah were watching him with amused smirks. His expression quickly soured. He then delivered Grunt #3 before leaving in a huff.

Soon as Casey was gone, Red turned her focus on Chuck. He couldn't help but squirm.

"So, Sarah, tell me. Who is this piece of scrumptious?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Rachel Roe, meet Chuck Bartowski. Chuck, meet Rachel."

"Can't say I recognize you," Rachel said as they shook. "Operative or analyst?"

Rachel caught the ever-so-brief look they shared before Chuck answered, "Analyst."

"Judging from your uniform, I take it your cover is Nerd Herd at the Buy More?" Chuck just nodded. Rachel gave him an appreciative once over and drawled, "Computer emergency." She turned to Sarah with a sly smirk. "This is one flash drive I wouldn't mind inserting into my USB port for a download."

Chuck futilely tried to cover his astonishment by coughing. Sarah bristled at Rachel's obvious flirtations. Rachel made careful note of her reaction.

"Listen, sweetie," she started, "much as I'd like to continue making your acquaintance, could you give Sarah and I some alone time?"

He looked to Sarah, who nodded imperceptibly. He gathered up the remnants of his sandwich and said his goodbyes. Sarah's eyes were on him as he left. Rachel's were on her.

"Now that's interesting," she said.

"What is?" Sarah asked.

"He's more my type than yours."

Sarah tried to laugh it off. "What are you talking about?"

"I always had a thing for tall, dark, and geeky. But you always went for the James Dean type. Be honest, babe, how often does he fix your hard drive?"

"Never. He's an asset, not an agent. It would be inappropriate."

"Really? Damn. Guy works on computers all day, gotta figure he's skilled with his hands. Seems like a waste."

Sarah shot her an annoyed look as she returned to her sandwich. "What do you want, Rach?"

"Nothin'," she innocently replied. "I'm between gigs at the moment. Needed to see a familiar face."

Sarah's annoyance evaporated. Sympathetically, she asked, "Coming off a tough one?"

"You have no idea."

It was a moment of understanding. Sarah knew the rigors of the job. How tough the assignments could be. And at the end of the day, there were only two people an agent could talk to about their experiences. The first was a CIA shrink, who no agent spoke to unless the brass mandated it. The other was another agent. And agents tended to stick together.

Rachel looked around the shop, trying to quell her emotion. "Looks like you're doin' okay."

"Been worse," Sarah admitted. "Beats schlepping through a South American jungle."

"I bet," Rachel laughed. "Of course, that's why I stick to Europe." A beat, "So, tell me about Chuck. Are you playing his girlfriend or is Casey playing his boyfriend?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes, slightly suspicious. "Why?"

"Since I was planning to ask if you'd drop by my hotel for drinks tonight, I was wondering if I needed to invite him along, too." Sarah seemed hesitant. "C'mon, Sarah, how long have we known each other? This isn't a play. I'm not a double agent. I just need a drink with a friend."

Sarah considered it. She had known Rachel for a long time. They graduated from the Langley training academy the same year. Ran numerous operations together. Sarah knew, without question, Rachel wasn't a double agent. And she certainly wasn't Fulcrum.

"Where are you staying?" she ultimately asked.

----------------

That night, Sarah, Casey and Chuck found themselves walking the hallway to Room 807 of the Regency Hotel.

"Well this is exciting, right?" Chuck exuded. "Bunch of us coming together to talk shop, share a few drinks, have a few laughs."

Casey offered Grunt #5 before turning to Sarah. "Did we have to bring him?"

"Actually, the invitation was for Chuck and myself. Be thankful I thought to invite you. And hope that Rachel doesn't kick you out."

"Please. That woman adores me."

"Right," Chuck drawled. "Women love men who insinuate they passed on a venereal disease."

"Oh, you caught the reference," Casey mocked. "I was wondering if you would. Thought I'd have to whip out a diagram and teach you about the birds and bees."

Chuck turned to Sarah, incredulous. "How does he bag so many secret agent hotties?"

"I have no idea," she answered honestly.

"My ass," Casey retorted. "Every day you fight your love for me. Still not interested though."

Sarah made gagging noises as she knocked on the door. "Rach? It's us."

After ten seconds of silence, the door unlocked. Then came a muffled, "Enter."

Sarah pushed open the door. Inside the room, about ten feet away, stood Rachel, weapon drawn. Team Bartowski tensed at the sight, but then Rachel saw that indeed it was Sarah and crew. She holstered her pistol and set it aside. With a wide smile, she beckoned them in.

"Come on in! I see you brought Johnny! The more the merrier. Take a load off. The fridge is stocked with booze. Let's get this shindig started."

-----------

Everybody was two sheets to the wind. Laughter filled the room. Gathered in the hotel room's living area, Rachel was regaling Chuck and Sarah with a story, waving her beer to emphasize her points.

"And this guy is massive. Swear to God, he could play defensive end for the Cowboys. He's about 6'3, 250 pounds. Chiseled like a Michelangelo statue. The guy literally lifts me up by the throat with one hand and holds me about three feet above his head. I mean, I'm hurt bad. I got a bullet in my shoulder, my right leg is broken. I am literally seeing my life flash before my eyes, but none of the good stuff, just the low points. I recall Kyle Miller dumping me the night before prom to go out with my best friend. I remember the first time I actually had to shoot someone and peed my pants afterward. Oh, and let's not forget the time I didn't put a c-note on the Patriots to beat the Rams in the Super Bowl.

"So, anyway, the guy slams me into the wall. And in this thick Ivan Drago accent he says 'I crush you like bug'. Now I'm not ashamed to admit it, but I'm about two seconds from peeing myself again. But then, like a white knight, guess who shows up?"

Rachel smirked at Casey. Chuck looked astonished. "Casey? How'd he get away from the four guys in the poker room?"

"I have no idea, and to this day, he still won't tell me. But he's got a huge gash above his brow and can barely stand up, let alone walk. And he is angry as hell, too. I mean 'Hulk Smash!' angry. Fire could have shot from his nostrils and I wouldn't have been surprised. So somehow he walks over and rips Dmitri's brand new flat screen plasma television off the wall. And then he says, and I kid you not, 'Hey, asshole! You're on TV!'. And he slammed that TV right into Dmitri's skull. I mean, the dude dropped like a rock. Like Wile E. Coyote getting crushed by an anvil."

Even Sarah was impressed by the story. Casey was actually blushing at the attention.

"Oh, but it gets better," Rachel insisted. "He then carried me the four blocks to the extraction point. Not only that, but the elevator was busted, so he had to carry me up eight flight of stairs to the helicopter waiting on the rooftop. Like an absolute sweetheart, he stayed at the hospital in Kiev with me for three days before the NSA finally pulled him out. Ever since then, I have been an official member of the John Casey Fan Club."

"And here I thought you didn't like us CIA skirts," Sarah teased.

"Oh, don't let his gruff exterior fool you," Rachel advised. "Casey's a teddy bear."

"No I'm not," he pouted. "I'm a Cold School Killer."

The other three laughed at his weak defense. Casey tried to get angry, but found he couldn't quite manage it.

"Actually, I think he's a master of bad puns," Chuck said. Mimicking, "Hey, asshole! You're on TV!"

Rachel burst into a new fit of laughter. "Don't tell me he still does that."

It was Sarah's turn to poke fun. "Oh yeah. He drove his Crown Vic through the front window of a Chinese restaurant. First words out of his mouth were..." Chuck joined her to say, "Did somebody order drive-thru?"

Everyone burst into laughter, even Casey. Rachel had to wipe tears from her eyes. "Oh baby, you are a sweetheart, but I swear, sometimes I think you've seen too many Schwarzenegger movies." She was giggling as she stood up and went into the kitchen. "I think it's time to switch to the hard stuff. Johnny, are you still a scotch man?"

"Yes ma'am."

"How 'bout you, Sarah? I got OJ and vodka. Be just like that time in Glasgow. "

The boys cast curious looks. Sarah actually appeared to be blushing.

"Yeah, how 'bout we not tell that story?" she pleaded.

"Oh, come on," Rachel teased. "I'm sure Chuck would love to know who you think is the better kisser: me or him."

Sarah appeared very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of both men. Lamely, she said, "The job, you know. The things we do for it."

As Rachel mixed drinks, "Really? I seem to recall us being between missions at that point."

Sarah was turning bright red. She suddenly found her shoes incredibly interesting. "Shut up and fix our drinks," she mumbled.

Rachel laughed. "Chuck, baby, what would you like?"

"I'll have what you two are having."

Rachel mixed up three screwdrivers and a scotch on the rocks. She carefully clutched the glasses, headed back into the living area and dispensed the drinks. She then eased back into her armchair.

"Thanks again for coming. The last several months have been rough. I really needed a night like this."

"Are you sure you're okay, Rach?" Sarah asked with concern. "You just don't quite seem yourself."

Rachel stared at her drink. Melancholy seeped into her voice. "You guys know how it is. This job... the things you gotta do." Sarah and Casey took pulls off their drinks, nodded solemnly in agreement. "The things _THEY _make you do. The way they expect you to check your conscience at the door along with your coat. It's a thankless job, isn't it? You go in, take care of the baddies, then slip away into the night. That's what our lives are – a serious of encounters with the scum of the earth. Drug dealers, arms smugglers, human traffickers, and various other sociopaths. Of course, that's what they turn _US _into. Sociopaths. How else can we be expected to commit the atrocities that we do in the name of justice?"

The agents took pulls off their drinks and nodded in mute acknowledgement. Chuck was riveted to the conversation, trying to process it, to glean some understanding of Sarah and Casey.

"Then, once in a while, we meet someone," Rachel continued. "Someone who sheds a little light into our darkness. Who gives us that glimpse of the so easily forgotten good side of humanity. Who makes us long for something else, for something more."

Rachel clearly caught the subtle glance Sarah flashed to Chuck. What's more, Chuck caught the glance. For the briefest of moments, they locked eyes, a wealth of communication passing between the two.

'_Crap,_' Rachel thought. '_This is gonna be tougher than I hoped._'

"Anyway. This night has been incredible. Truly, it has. Sarah, Johnny, I love you both, I want you guys to know that. No matter how this thing ends."

Both agents looked to her, sudden concern rising. It was Sarah who vocalized her feelings. "Rach? What do you mean?"

"Babe, I lied earlier," Rachel regretfully informed her. "This was a play."

Sarah and Casey suddenly began to feel drowsy. Looking to their drinks, they instantly understood. Their faces showed betrayal. Rachel hated it.

"Please, don't look at me like that. If you knew the situation, I think you would both understand."

Casey was slipping into unconsciousness. Sarah tried to get to her feet and pull her weapon. Rachel easily disarmed her and gently pushed her back onto the couch. She took a moment to ensure her blonde counterpart was comfortable.

"Sweetie, I am so sorry. Maybe one day you'll forgive me." A moment, then, "But I doubt it."

Sarah slipped into unconsciousness.

Rachel turned Sarah's weapon on Chuck. While suffering the effects of alcohol, he didn't seem to be suffering any other effects. At least, not beyond incredible confusion and fear.

"Rachel?"

Rachel cocked the weapon. "Sorry, babe. This hurts me more than it hurts you."

Chuck gulped, his eyes fixed upon the gun. "I seriously doubt that."

END PART


	4. Rude Awakenings

_To all those who've reviewed this story, thank you, it thrills me to no end. Keep 'em coming. For those who haven't... I know where you live. Bwah ha ha (evil laugh, for those who don't know)._

CHAPTER FOUR: RUDE AWAKENINGS

Chuck awoke to the sun glaring in his eyes and a jostling sensation. It took a few moments to realize he was riding shotgun in a car. How the hell...?

Suddenly, Chuck was hit by a series of flashes. Not the usual kind, but a recollection of the previous night. Drinking. Laughing. Then a look of utter betrayal on Sarah's face. Then, for some reason, Rachel was leading him down to her car. She brought out a small aerosol tube and squirted him in the face...

Rachel!

Groggily, Chuck turned to face the car's driver. Sure enough, it was Rachel. She returned the look, a completely neutral expression on her face, before turning back to the road. It took a few more moments for Chuck to carefully analyze the situation.

"I'm in deep crap."

-----------

In Rachel's Los Angeles hotel room, an hour or so earlier, Sarah Walker slowly began to rouse to consciousness. A jackhammer was pounding away in her brain, worse than any hangover she had ever experienced. And then—

SLAP! A thick hand cracked Sarah across her cheek.

"Wake up, Walker!"

Sarah's eyes popped open. But the sunlight only amplified the piercing pain reverberating in her skull, so she immediately shut them again.

"Slap me again and I'll gut you like a fish," she managed to slur.

"Yes, very scary, Sleeping Beauty. Will you wake up?"

Sarah forced her eyes to open a crack. She got her first glance at Casey, and boy, did he look rough. She shielded her eyes with her arm. "Ah! Not pretty! Ugly!"

"Dammit, Walker, Chuck's gone!"

That snapped Sarah into sobriety. "What?"

"The skirt hosed us. She has Chuck."

------------

"Beckman, secure."

"General, it's Casey. We have a Hauptmann situation."

Silence. Then: "Oh, dear God."

-------------

Casey's apartment was a flurry of activity. Casey was in a video teleconference with Beckman and a select few NSA and CIA higher ups. Sarah was screaming into her cell phone, dealing with California Highway Patrol.

"General, we couldn't have known. It was Rachel Roe, for God's sake..."

"This is Agent Sarah Walker, Central Intelligence Agency. I need a BOLO for a Red Ford Taurus, license number JFB-583. The driver is Rachel Roe, alias Silvia Thomas, alias Annabelle Reed. Car was rented at LAX two days ago."

"He didn't flash! We assumed she was clean. No indication whatsoever that she has Fulcrum connections. She certainly wasn't on LaFleur's jump drive."

"Subject is Caucasian female, 29, approximately 5'10, 135 pounds. Red hair, green eyes. Subject is to be considered armed and dangerous."

"We didn't consider her a threat! Agent Roe is well known to Agent Walker and myself. She has an impeccable reputation within the intelligence community. We both considered her a friendly face."

"Subject is wanted for the abduction of Charles Bartowski, Caucasian male, 28, approximately 6'3, 190 pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes. Mr. Bartowski is an analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency."

"She has at least a five hour head start. An agent of her skills and connections, she could be halfway to Moscow by now."

"I need the BOLO extended to Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, and Oregon. Please notify those respective state's highway patrols. I also need descriptions put out to airports in Los Angeles, Oakland, San Fran, Vegas, Phoenix, and Portland. Anyplace within 500 miles that offers international flights. I also want flight manifests from every private airport within that same radius. Oh, and notify every port on the western seaboard."

Suddenly, Beckman's voice caused both agents' jaws to drop.

"I'm authorizing a Schedule Seven action."

Sarah nearly dropped her phone in disbelief. But she couldn't stop the words that slipped from her lips. "Are you insane?!"

Beckman glared. "Excuse me, Agent Walker?"

"I think it's a little early for such drastic measures," Sarah defended.

"A CIA operative shows up and less than ten hours later incapacitates two other agents and kidnaps the single most important intelligence asset in the world. What action would you deem appropriate? Or have you lost all objectivity in regards to this operation?"

"My mission objective is to protect Chuck Bartowski at all costs."

"A mission you have failed miserably. A Central Intelligence operative of unknown allegiances has kidnapped the Intersect. Both she and the Intersect are compromised. I am approving a Schedule Seven. Rachel Roe and Chuck Bartowski are to be terminated. Any civilians with knowledge of the program are to be taken into immediate custody. Am I understood? Or must I bring in someone else to see these orders are fulfilled?"

"General, I've run a half dozen operations with Rachel Roe," Sarah gritted. "She's a good agent. I simply refuse to believe she's turned traitor. Something else must be going on."

"Agent Walker..." the General viciously countered. Casey quickly interrupted.

"General, our orders are understood and will be executed. Casey out."

The teleconference abruptly ended. Sarah immediately drew her weapon on Casey. The NSA agent merely glared at her, annoyed.

"Put the piece away, Walker. Last thing we need is your girly feelings clouding your judgment."

"This is Chuck we're talking about. His family," she said through gritted teeth.

"I know. And your overreaction just about lost us control of this operation. We don't need Beckman bringing in outside contractors."

Sarah struggled to wrap her mind around what Casey was saying. "What?"

"I agree with your assessment. Something strange is going on. I know Rachel, too. She's a solid agent. No way she'd betray her country by handing the Intersect over to the baddies."

Sarah laughed ruefully. "Are you telling me you won't kill him?"

"If he's actually being turned over to Fulcrum, yeah, I'll put a bullet in him. I just don't think that is what's happening." Casey paused a moment. Sarah lowered her weapon slightly. "Although I do agree with Beckman on one matter. We should take Devon and Ellie into custody. If for no other reason than as a precaution."

A grief stricken look appeared on Sarah's face. She holstered her weapon and sank onto the couch. In a dull voice, "I swore to Ellie that I would protect her brother. That I would die for him. Now, less than 36 hours later, how am I supposed to tell her that I've broken my promise?"

Casey didn't have an answer.

----------

Sunrise Inn

Just Outside Kingman, Arizona

When Chuck woke for the second time, he was gagged and handcuffed to a bed. The television was flickering on the dresser. "The Andy Griffith Show". The episode where some shady lawyer tricked Otis into suing the Sheriff's Office.

In the bathroom, Chuck could hear water running. Figuring Rachel was busy, he took a moment to access the situation.

Run down motel room. Handcuffed to the bedpost. No key visible. He thought about dislocating his thumb to escape the cuff. That seemed like something Sarah or Casey would do. And while it might work, he thought there an equal chance he might pass out from the pain. So rule that out. Judging from the lack of a bulge in the back of his pants, Chuck figured his cell phone was gone. No way to triangulate a cell signal. Plus, his watch was missing. No homing beacon.

Chuck was on his own.

Rachel stepped from the bathroom wearing a pair of plain white panties and white t-shirt. Her hair was a couple inches shorter and dyed a peroxide blonde. She ran a hand through her hair, shaking her still wet locks. With a small smile:

"What do you think? Very Geena Davis, _The Long Kiss Goodnight_, don't you think?" Chuck didn't give much of a reaction. She almost seemed disappointed. "Well, I thought it was a good movie."

Brown eyes simply stared back, not so much afraid, just terribly confused.

"Here's the situation, Chuck," Rachel said, sitting on the corner of the bed. "I've kidnapped you, as I'm sure you already deduced. You are my hostage. Resistance is futile.

"You may also be wondering why I chose you. Well, it turns out you are uniquely qualified to help. You see, I need your particular skill set, Chuck. I need the Intersect." Chuck's eyes widened. "Yes, I know that's what you are. So here's how it's gonna go down. You will obey my every command. Noncompliance will be met with swift and brutal consequences.

"You should know, I have injected you with a compound called NJ-27. Nanites. Microscopic machines. These machines rove throughout your blood vessels, gathering and converting the body's own resources into a small, but incredibly lethal, explosive compound. If I press this button," she held up a small device the size of a keychain, "the bomb will explode. If it detonates in your head or heart, death will be instantaneous. If it detonates elsewhere, death will be slow and terribly painful.

"Now, I believe a man like you has a sense of honor. If absolutely necessary, you would sacrifice your life rather than assist in a terrible cause. As such you should also understand that I know where you live. I will kill your future brother-in-law to gain your compliance. I will threaten to kill your sister to keep it. Blink twice if you understand."

Confusion turned to hate. Still, Chuck blinked twice.

In an instant, her tone performed a complete one-eighty. Rachel reached out and gently brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. "Good. Now I'm gonna go on a food run. Are burgers okay or would you like something else?" Chuck continued to glare. "Well, try to get some rest while I'm gone. We gotta get back on the road. Hafta stay a step ahead of our pursuers."

Rachel patted his knee. For just a moment, she let her hand linger on his leg. When Chuck's glare refused to soften—

"Try not to escape while I'm gone. Remember, I can kill you with one touch of a button."

Chuck watched as she slipped on a pair of blue jeans and grabbed her wallet and car keys. She looked back at him, an undecipherable flash of emotions crossing her face before cool neutrality returned.

As the door shut behind her, Chuck's expression once again returned to confusion.

----------

Sarah sat at Casey's desk. Flight manifests from private airports all around the Los Angeles area were being e-mailed. But her eyes were not focused on the computer screen.

She stared at her iPhone. Ellie's name was highlighted. All it would take was a single touch to make the call.

"I can make the call."

Sarah startled at Casey's voice. Her partner was looking at her over the top of a file containing a preliminary forensics report on Rachel's motel room. If Sarah didn't know better, she would swear something akin to sympathy reflected in his eyes.

"No. It should be me."

Her phone began to chirp. Looking to the caller ID, Sarah paled. But when she answered, she used her cheeriest voice.

"Ellie, hi! What's up?" ... "Sure, dinner sounds great. It'll give us a chance to talk." ... "He isn't? Well, he might be on a service call. He usually shuts off his cell for those." ... "Okay. Seven o'clock. I'll be there."

Sarah disconnected the call. She slumped in the chair and stared at the ceiling. "Coward," she murmured.

----------

Twenty-five minutes after leaving the motel, Rachel was back. Two bags of Burger King food sat in the passenger seat. Rachel simply sat in the driver's seat of her 1992 Toyota Corolla, the engine shut off, parked in the motel lot.

She bought the car for 500 bucks a few days earlier. Knowing Sarah and Casey would track down her rental car, Rachel purchased this getaway vehicle for cash, finding the ad in the LA Times newspaper.

Good thing it was an old ride, too. She was about ready to snap off the steering wheel, wringing it frantically in her worry. But finally she gathered her courage. Grabbed her cell phone and hit speed dial.

"It's me." ... "I fully intend to honor our deal." ... "I will bring you the package. I just want assurances you will give me what I want in return." ... "Soon! The package will be in your hands soon. But so help me God, if you don't live up to your end..." ... "No. That isn't a threat. It's a guarantee. But if you honor your word, I will honor mine."

Rachel disconnected the call. She collapsed in the seat, a weary expression on her face. Staring heavenward—

"Please God, I've never asked anything of you before, but I'm asking now. Let this work."

END PART


	5. Land of Confusion

_Hang with me, my little chickadees. It's okay if you succumb to the title of this chapter. In fact, you're supposed to. Things will eventually make sense. Probably._

CHAPTER FIVE: LAND OF CONFUSION

After promising to be a good boy and not to scream, Rachel ripped away the tape covering his mouth. Chuck couldn't help but yelp in pain.

"Sorry," she said. "At least you won't have to shave tomorrow."

Chuck gave consideration to a hunger strike, but he hadn't eaten in forever. He wolfed down a Whopper while Rachel munched on a chicken sandwich. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that she had to hide a grin while watching him eat.

"You can take a shower if you like," she offered after they ate. "It might make you feel better. Sorry I didn't think to buy you a change of clothes." As Chuck moved to close the bathroom door, she added, "Door stays open. I trust you, Chuck, but not that much. Not yet."

Despite being drugged and kidnapped, a shower did make him feel slightly better. When he reemerged from the bathroom, he found Rachel gazing at her iPhone, a morose expression on her face.

"Are Sarah and Casey okay?" he asked.

Rachel quickly pocketed the phone and rubbed her face. Did she wipe away a tear?

"Of course. Gave them the same drug I gave you. Probably woke with a hangover. No worse for wear."

Small comfort. "Why are you doing this?"

"Yours is not to question why, yours is but to do or die." Rachel fixed him with a sympathetic gaze. "Sorry Chuck. This isn't twenty questions. Speak when spoken to. Obey orders you are given. And don't give me a reason to press the button."

Rachel zipped up her duffel bag, then scanned the room, checking to see if she was forgetting anything. "Time to go. If you're a good boy we can stop by K-Mart and get you some fresh clothes.

"Yes ma'am," Chuck coldly replied. There it was again on Rachel's face, a brief flicker of... hurt? What the hell?

---------

Nothing. A full day's search and not a damn thing.

Sure, there were a few sightings. Local law enforcement checked them out. All proved to be false.

So, nearly twenty hours after his disappearance, they had no leads regarding Chuck's location. They couldn't even be sure whether Rachel hitched a cargo ship out of Port Of Los Angeles, a plane out of LAX, or if she was driving cross-country with Chuck tied up in the trunk.

Now it was nearly seven pm. Sarah stood at the doorway of the Bartowski apartment, simply staring at the front door, unable to bring her hand up to knock. It had been a long time since Sarah could honestly say a person – any person - frightened her. But now, at this moment, Eleanor Faye Bartowski scared the crap out of her. And Sarah hadn't even confronted her yet.

Once more, Sarah raised her hand, summoning the will to knock. Suddenly the door flew open to reveal Ellie. "Sarah, hello," the woman said cautiously, still unsure of their relationship in a post-CIA revelation world. Sarah tried to put up a stoic face, but couldn't quickly enough.

"Oh God," Ellie gasped. "What's wrong? What happened to Chuck?"

"We need to talk," Sarah pitifully admitted.

--------

For the second time in five minutes, Sarah reeled from a devastating slap to the face. Ellie readied to fire a third and Sarah did nothing to defend herself, content to allow the other woman to work out her anger. It was Devon who stopped her, though Sarah could tell, the handsome male doctor's own eyes burned with fury.

"You said you would protect him!" Ellie screamed, tears flowing, struggling against Devon's grasp. "You swore to me! I believed you! Now you're telling me some psycho bitch has taken him?! You lied to me!"

Sarah stood there. Not reacting, not defending herself, not anything. The left side of her face was red and inflamed. She tried desperately to will tears from spilling.

"Why are you just standing there?!" Ellie continued. "Why aren't you out there looking for him? Why are you just standing in my living room doing nothing?"

"We're trying to find him," Sarah softly answered.

"Really?! Because it looks like you're standing there with your thumb up your ass! Get out of my house!"

"It's, uh, more complicated than that," Sarah mumbled.

"What are you talking about?" Devon sourly interjected.

"With Chuck in enemy hands, certain measures must be taken..."

"Just say it," Devon snapped.

Sarah reacted at his sharp tone, unused to hearing the usually jovial man speak harshly. "Even without CIA training, Chuck knows not to divulge sensitive information to enemy combatants. But it's possible he could be coerced into cooperation if his family were leveraged against him. Particularly family who knows of his government associations." Deep breath. "We've been ordered to take you both into custody."

Ellie and Devon stared in shock. Finally, she answered with, "Go to hell."

"Ellie..."

"What? You lose my brother and now you think you can pull us from our home? Go to hell, Sarah."

Sarah paused, trying to frame her next words very carefully. "Ellie, you need to come with me. You don't want General Beckman to send someone else."

Ellie's brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"Ellie, Casey and I aren't exactly sticking to the reservation on this. We're trying very hard to keep a low profile to buy us some extra time to find your brother. But if Beckman has to send other operatives out here, she'll know her orders aren't being obeyed to the letter. And that's not good for you, Chuck, or any of us."

Ellie couldn't even begin to fathom what Sarah was talking about. But the young operative could tell Devon was working things out. Thankfully, if he had a theory, he chose not to share it. Instead, he simply said, "I think we should listen to Sarah, honey."

Ellie snapped her attention around to Devon. Stared in disbelief. "What are you saying? We should just let her drive us from our home?"

"I'm saying we should let Sarah do her job. For once," he said with a pointed look. Sarah just looked to the floor.

"Look," Sarah said, "you can stay in the apartment. But you must stay confined here. No work, no going out, nothing. Out of sight, out of mind. Understood?"

Ellie looked ready to object, but Devon simply said, "Understood."

**************

Sarah reentered Casey's apartment and collapsed back against the door. Casey looked up from his file.

"How'd it go?"

Sarah scoffed. "Like you weren't listening?"

**************

Rest Stop

Just West of Flagstaff, Arizona

The old Toyota Corolla parked in the nearly abandoned lot. Rachel put the car in park and turned to her companion.

"Okay. Here are the ground rules when we go out in public. First, no unnecessary speech. Second, do not give any indication to anyone that anything is out of the ordinary. Third, try to run..."

"And you'll push the button," Chuck finished dryly.

Rachel nodded, retrieved a small key from her jeans pocket. Unlocked the handcuffs binding Chuck's wrist to the passenger side door handle.

"Your best behavior," she warned.

They exited the vehicle. Chuck gave a cursory look around, judging his options. Not seeing any chance for escape, he simply followed Rachel to the restrooms.

She first threw open the door to the men's room. They both heard hard grunting coming from a stall. Rachel rolled her eyes. "Guy's gonna give himself a hemorrhoid."

She then threw open the women's room door. "Anyone in here?" she called. No response. She indicated for Chuck to enter.

"You're kidding," he exclaimed.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

No, she didn't. So Chuck entered the bathroom.

"Handicap stall," she instructed.

Chuck entered the extra large handicap stall. Just as he was about to shut the door, Rachel's hand blocked it. She stepped inside the stall.

"What are you...?" he asked.

"I don't trust you enough yet," she repeated. "Now do your business."

Reluctantly, Chuck turned to face the toilet. Unzipped his fly. After several moments of inaction, Rachel asked, "What's the problem?"

"I can't do this with you watching me."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Oh brother." She turned away.

After checking that she was turned around, Chuck began his business. A minute later, when Chuck finished and zipped up, he turned to face Rachel. "Now what?"

"Now I gotta go."

"Oh. Wanna give me the keys? I'll wait in the car."

"Ha! No. But I like that you're keeping in good humor." Before Chuck could react, the handcuffs were back out. One cuff snapped around his wrist, the other around the metal rail support bar. "Now turn around."

Chuck obediently turned away as Rachel took her turn on the toilet. A minute later the toilet flushed. Rachel unlocked the handcuffs. "Remember to wash your hands," she reminded.

Soon as they exited the stall, they were greeted by a mother bringing in her 6 year old daughter. The mother gasped, quickly covered her daughter's eyes.

"Sorry," Rachel apologized. Very cheekily, she smacked Chuck on the ass and gripped his cheek, rested her head on his shoulder. "Long road trip. Stress builds. You know how it is."

Neither Rachel nor the mother caught Chuck mouthing, "Help me." The duo simply washed their hands and exited the bathroom.

As they walked by the vending machines, Rachel asked, "Want anything?"

"How 'bout a bottle of Pepsi and a bag of Please Let Me Go?"

"Pepsi I can do. But will you settle for Cheetos?"

"I guess."

*************

Soon as she snubbed out one cigarette, Sarah quickly put another to her lips and lit it.

Smoking was a nasty habit. One Sarah had kicked nearly a decade earlier. In the aftermath of her father's arrest by the government, and her subsequent introduction to the CIA system, Sarah had found that smoking, while not making her look cooler, did manage to calm her nerves during anxious times.

Once she turned 18 and began her CIA training in earnest, she had kicked the habit at the suggestion of then Deputy Director Arthur Graham and her agency mentor, James Craig.

But now she was on the verge of a panic attack. Uncomfortable with the idea of scoring Xanax, Sarah instead took a trip to the neighborhood gas station. There she bought a fifth of Absolut and two pack of Pall Mall's.

In the courtyard outside the Bartowski apartment, Sarah puffed her cigarette and stared up into the night sky. At the moment, her only comfort was that Rachel expended considerable effort to incapacitate Casey and herself. Which meant she wanted Chuck alive.

She wondered if Chuck was gazing into the night sky, staring at the same stars she was. Or if he was even in a position to.

Sarah shook the unpleasant thoughts away. Rachel was a good woman. Whatever reason she had for taking Chuck, Sarah had to believe she wouldn't hurt him.

Sarah took a deep drag, blew smoke into the cool night air. She struggled to remember a time when life wasn't so complicated. A day when she went in, did a job, then rode off into the sunset. No fuss, no muss.

She was compromised. Sarah knew that. Once again she had grown emotionally attached to someone she worked with. To compound her troubles, it was an asset she had fallen for.

At least she thought she had fallen for him. Not that she had much to compare her emotions to. Never had a high school boyfriend. Hell, she didn't even kiss a boy until she was nearly seventeen, and that experience didn't go particularly well. Her first serious romantic relationship was with her CIA mentor. Even he was thirty years her senior and married. After which she immediately stepped into the whole sordid mess with Bryce...

Then came Chuck. A loveably goofy computer geek with a normal job and a normal life. All the things she never had and was surprised to find she was actually intrigued by.

Not that life with him was perfect. He had essentially dumped her twice. First for some sandwich maker, a second time for an ex-girlfriend. _The_ ex-girlfriend.

Truthfully, Sarah could understand his motivations, if not his tastes. Both women offered a sense of normalcy, a taste of life B.I. (Before Intersect). While it crushed her to watch him flirt with and kiss another woman – ripped her heart out to be more accurate – she always sucked it up like a good little soldier. She wanted him to be happy and find love, even if not with her.

During those times she allowed herself to dream about the impossible. A life without the Intersect, without the CIA. A nice house with a white picket fence, two kids, and a loyal dog roaming the yard. Of a day when maybe Fate would stop kicking her in the teeth. When Life would stop treating her like some bitch that slept with her husband. That maybe somehow, someway, she'd find a little slice of happiness.

The last two days were a sharp reminder that that life was indeed a fantasy. Chuck was gone, his life once again endangered because of the Intersect. And now his sister, a woman Sarah always adored despite being a tad uncomfortable around, loathed her. To make matters worse, Beckman had ordered Chuck to be terminated.

At the moment, Sarah could see her life going one of two ways. More accurately, she saw it ending one of two ways. Either in a hail of gunfire trying to bring Chuck home, or through her own weapon when Beckman tried to take him away again. Frankly, Sarah saw either scenario playing out within the next few days.

"Walker," Casey's gruff voice sounded. She turned back to face his doorway. "Beckman wants a status report in five."

Sarah mutely nodded, dropped her cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out. Casting a quick glance to the Bartowski apartment, she caught a glimpse of Ellie. The young doctor had obviously been watching her. The second she realized she'd been spotted, she ducked behind the curtain.

Sarah sighed. One hurdle at a time. Once she found Chuck – and if she weren't reassigned or dead – she would work on mending her relationship with Ellie. Until then—

"Back to work," she murmured as she turned to Casey's apartment.

**********

Interstate 40

Near the Arizona – New Mexico Border

Chuck fiddled with the dial on the radio – one concession Rachel had begrudgingly made – as the Toyota raced along the interstate. Finally settling on a classic rock station – one genre they could both agree on – Chuck leaned back and watched the desert fly by in the night. Finally he could stand the silence no longer.

"I don't suppose we're going to Six Flags in Arlington."

Once more, Rachel completely perplexed him. She smiled. A tiny whisper of one, but a smile nonetheless.

"Sorry, no."

"Wanna give me a hint?"

"Just got an errand to run before we get down to business."

"Oh? What sort of errand? And, you know, where?"

Rachel spared a glance. He could never tell when he was dealing with BadRachel or SlightlyLessBadRachel. At this moment it was the latter.

"Gotta stop by the bank. In Roswell."

Chuck took a few moments, trying to gauge whether he heard her accurately. "O-kay," he drawled.

The Corolla continued to clip along the highway.

END PART


	6. Roswell, Part One

_Sorry for the delay, my little ferrets. For starters, I really wasn't in the mood to write, and I didn't want to post any more of the chapters I had completed without going forward on new ones. But, it's been so long, I decided to anyway. Plus, you know, I got obsessed with the show "Dexter" and have been catching up on it (seriously, that show is sooo good). Oh, and I got reacquainted with my old friend vodka, so there's that._

_Oh, and please, give me reviews. That might cure my lack of desire to write._

CHAPTER SIX: ROSWELL, PART ONE

It was a cruel trick, Ellie decided. Sometime around two in the morning Devon finally tired of her anxious pacing and slipped a mickey into her glass of tea.

Now it was nearly ten am. To her horror, the past 72 hours had proven to be a reality and not the twisted, horrific dream she so fervently prayed for. She was living in a world where her next-door neighbor and brother's girlfriend were secret agents, and her brother had been abducted by a third, renegade agent.

She tried to eat breakfast. Finding she couldn't even stomach toast, she retreated into the bedroom and broke out Devon's stationary bike. After thirty furious minutes of pedaling she opted for a steaming hot shower. Neither tactic worked to relieve her of any frustration or anxiety. It had come to the point where Ellie was seriously thinking about breaking out a bottle of wine. At eleven in the morning.

Finally she went to the window of her cell – she had already begun to think of the apartment that way – and looked outside. Once again she saw Sarah pacing the courtyard. The blonde agent was using the nub of a smoldering cigarette to light the next. That task accomplished, she snubbed out the butt and went to work on the fresh smoke.

Ellie didn't think it possible before, but the usually attractive blonde looked ragged and rough. To be blunt, she looked like crap warmed over.

She couldn't quite fathom how much her feelings for the young blonde had changed in the last couple days. Just a week ago, while preparing for her own wedding, Ellie was keeping mental notes for the inevitable – in her mind – Chuck and Sarah wedding.

She had been so terribly disappointed in his renewed interest in his old flame Jill, but literally squealed with delight when she discovered the ex was once more out of the picture. '_Soon,_' she thought, '_my dumbass brother's gonna pop the question to Sarah.'_

Then came the revelation. His girlfriend was actually his cover girlfriend and she worked for the CIA. But it was complicated because there were certain shared feelings...

Now her brother was gone. And _That Woman_ had essentially confined her and Devon to quarters. To be sure, Ellie was positively livid at the situation. _That Woman _swore to protect her baby brother and less than a day later had broken that promise.

But despite herself, Ellie couldn't stop the tinge of sympathy gathering in her soul. Because there was no way she had misinterpreted the hundreds of looks her brother and this woman had shared in the past year. Or even the expression upon _That Woman's_ face as she chronicled the heroic exploits of her brother.

"God, she really does love him," Ellie whispered.

Somehow, that only angered her further.

-------------

Roswell, New Mexico

Roswell First Savings & Loan

After stopping at a dive of a hotel in Vaughn, New Mexico for a few hours of rest, Rachel roused Chuck from a fitful sleep. A couple hours later they arrived in Roswell just in time for the lunchtime bank traffic.

"To better blend in," Rachel explained. "People forget your face during a rush."

As they sat in the Corolla observing the bank, Rachel withdrew her weapon from the small of her back.

"Holding the place up?" Chuck dryly asked. "If things go south, my word of advice: don't let them take you alive."

"Ha!" Rachel exclaimed as she indicated her right side. "See, right here? It's splitting."

She tucked the weapon underneath the driver's seat, then uncuffed Chuck's wrist. "Remember..."

"Yeah, yeah. Best behavior or the button. At least you're not telling me to stay in the car. Though if you do, just leave the keys in the ignition so I can listen to the radio."

"Oh, Chuck. I can see why Sarah likes you."

The comment only befuddled him further. Chuck was fairly sure it wasn't natural to have this easy a report with one's kidnapper. For a brief instant, he considered the possibility he was already suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

"Here, take this." Rachel thrust an empty canvas duffel bag into his arms. Off his curious look, "We're making a withdrawal."

Soon as they entered the bank, Chuck's eyes immediately began to scan the area. First, he spotted a security guard trolling the room. Chuck didn't like his chances there. The guy looked to be about 55 and forty pounds overweight, the definition of "Rent-a-Cop".

He imagined there were panic buttons behind the counter in the tellers' area. Maybe he could do something stupid, like yell "She's got a gun!" and get them to lock down the bank.

But as they approached the counter, Chuck did nothing. Except look up into the black camera ball in the ceiling above. Silently, he mouthed—

"Can I help you?" the teller asked.

Rachel presented the teller with a phony, but exquisite, New Mexico driver's license. "Yes, hello. My name is Annabelle Reed. I'd like to retrieve the contents of my safety deposit box."

The teller examined the flawless forgery, looked to Rachel. On the license, she still had red hair.

"You know how it is," Rachel said. "Sometimes you just gotta change things up."

The pretty young blonde teller smiled. "I know. About a year ago, I tried being a brunette." She then typed the driver's license info into her computer. "I see you as having box 2431."

The teller then proceeded to escort them to the Security Deposits Vault. After finding box 2431, the teller inserted a key into one lock, while Rachel inserted another key into a second lock. The box the teller helped her remove was quite large, nearly one foot by three feet.

"There's a private room right over there to view your contents," the teller pointed. Rachel thanked the girl, then dropped the box into Chuck's arms and shooed him into the room.

Chuck dropped the heavy box to the table with a clatter. "Oof! What the hell you got in here, a body?"

"No. Just something to help me find one."

When Rachel popped the lid, Chuck's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Holy crap!"

"Yeah," Rachel responded dryly. "I just hope the fact you know I have money doesn't change our relationship."

After removing a plastic bag full of fake driver's licenses and passports, Rachel began removing thick bricks of money – each comprised of hundred dollar bills – and placed them inside the duffel. After that, she began removing thick stacks of paper and placing them inside.

"How much...?"

"Two hundred grand, cash. About four million in bearer bonds."

"Wow. Government work pays better than I thought."

Rachel paused. "Yeah. This money, it isn't exactly taxable, if you know what I mean." Off Chuck's confusion: "Ran an op in Latvia a couple years back. Scammed a few arms dealers selling old Soviet anti-tank missiles on the black market. I took a percentage."

Chuck's eyes went wide. Rachel gazed longingly at the cash. "This was supposed to be my retirement fund."

With one last sigh, Rachel finished transferring the bearer bonds to the duffel bag. Zipping up she said, "Okay. Let's book."

She slung the duffel over her shoulder and escorted Chuck out. Through the Deposit's Vault, back into the main area.

As they approached the tellers' counter again, Chuck's mind began to race. He knew he had to act. This could be his best opportunity to shake his captor, or better yet, induce a situation that might result in her capture.

One word. One magic word. That's all it would take for the entirety of the Roswell Police Department to streak to the bank.

Gun.

She has a gun. That's all he had to say. That pretty blonde teller would slap the silent alarm so fast... And maybe, just maybe, that poor excuse for a security guard would pull his own piece before Rachel crushed his windpipe.

"She has a gun."

The words were out of his mouth before he even knew he said them.

Silence reigned over the bank for several moments. Time frozen. The teller looked at him. The security guard looked at him. The entire room looked at him. Hell, even Rachel looked at him with a stunned – and even betrayed – expression.

Then someone screamed: "She has a gun!"

The pretty blonde teller kneed the silent alarm beneath the counter.

Most bank patrons stood still, frozen by fear. A couple screamed and broke for the exits.

The security guard reached for his weapon, tried to pull it— The pistol caught on the safety latch.

That was all the time Rachel needed.

Dropping the duffel bag, she was atop the guard in a split second. Her left hand dropped over the guard's right, which was still trying to pull the pistol. With her right hand, she drove her knuckles into the man's throat.

As the man dropped, Rachel jerked hard and yanked the six-shooter free of the holster. Aiming the weapon into the air, she fired a single shot.

"Nobody move! This is NOT a robbery!"

Everyone in the bank obeyed the woman's command. Outside, the sirens of the first patrol car cut through the silence. It must have already been in the area.

With a death glare at Chuck, Rachel warned, "You and I are gonna chat later."

She then aimed her weapon at the blonde teller. "Lock the exits. Any funny business and I'm gonna start shooting people, okay?"

As the teller moved to obey the command, Rachel turned her attention to the roomful of hostages. She noticed two in particular - a man in his mid-30 with his daughter, no more than 7 or 8 years old. The little girl clutched her father's hand fearfully, eyes wide at the sight of Rachel's weapon.

"Wait!" she called to the teller. She spoke to the father and daughter. "You two. Get out of here." The two didn't dare move. "I'm not gonna shoot you. Take your little girl and go."

The father nodded slightly and quickly pulled his daughter towards the exit. With them gone, she indicated for the teller to finish locking up.

Outside, two more patrol cars shrieked to a stop near the first. The officers leapt from the cars to form the beginnings of a perimeter around the bank.

"Okay everyone!" Rachel called. "Back behind the teller counter! You're going into the vault!"

The patrons herded together like a flock of sheep and swept behind the counter. A man in a suit – undoubtedly the bank manager – opened the vault door. With a few quick instructions and a shake of the gun, Rachel directed everyone inside.

"Just sit tight," she advised before shutting the vault door. "Fifteen minutes and you'll all be on your merry way."

Just then, a telephone on the counter began to ring. As she moved by Chuck to answer it, she said again, "Did I mention we're gonna have a long talk?"

Chuck gulped. Rachel lifted the phone.

"Yes...?" ... "My name isn't important, only my words. I have nearly twenty hostages in here. I've already demonstrated good faith by releasing a father and his daughter. As a further demonstration of my generosity, I will give you two hours to meet my demands." ... "Simple. I want a helicopter on the rooftop. It will take us to the Roswell Airport, where a Leer jet will be waiting for us, fully fueled I might add." ... "Our destination is not your concern, only the safety of the hostages. Two hours. If my demands are not met, I will begin to execute them, starting with the women, every fifteen minutes." ... "No, that is all."

Rachel slammed the phone onto the cradle.

"Oh God, we're not going to Venezuela or something, are we?" Chuck panicked.

Rachel paused, an irritated expression on her face. She waved him silent. "Don't speak to me right now. I'm very angry at you."

Chuck cocked his head, confused. Why did she use the same tone Ellie used when Awesome bought a toaster oven for her birthday?

Rachel breezed by, quickly recovering the duffel, intent on a door behind the teller counter marked "Bank Personnel Only".

"Come along Chuck."

Chuck obediently followed.

---------------

Outside, one patrolman disconnected his cell phone. He looked to his fellow officers huddled around their own patrol cars.

"Damn," he said. "She sounds like one tough bitch."

"It's a woman?" another patrolman asked, surprised.

The first patrolman nodded.

"What did she ask for?"

"A helicopter to the airport and a plane ride out of here or she'll execute hostages."

"Think she'll do it?" a third patrolman asked.

The first patrolman thought for a moment. "Mike, call the airport, arrange for a plane. I'll try to wrangle up a helicopter."

---------------

Rachel seemed to know where she was going. It was a short hallway with only a few doors – a bathroom, couple offices, a maintenance closet, and a door marked:

"Basement," Rachel said.

She threw open the door and led Chuck down the stairs. The basement contained the large units for air conditioning, heating, and something else. A large cylindrical tank with a smaller metal tube that appeared to run through the outer wall.

"Fetch me that sledgehammer over there, would ya?"

Chuck retrieved the tool Rachel requested. Giving him the duffel, she took the sledge and proceeded to take up a good whacking stance, a few feet away from the smaller tube running from the tank through the brick wall.

"What is that?" Chuck queried, suspecting the answer and really not liking it.

"Ever see The Shawshank Redemption?"

With a solid whack, Rachel drove the sledge through the tube, puncturing a three-inch wide hole. The room was suddenly filled with the most god-awful stench, as brownish green fluid gushed out, like soda from a shaken bottle, soaking Rachel in the process. She barely flinched.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Aw shit."

Rachel looked over. Even in her anger at him, she managed a wry smile. "That's about the size of it."

A couple more whacks knocked the pipe free of the wall.

END PART


	7. Roswell, Part Two

Sorry for the delays. There are so many reasons. Work has been weird. They keep alternating me between the morning, evening, and overnight shifts. So it's been really hard to find any grove. But now, they've got me on one shift for at least the next month, so maybe I can actually schedule time to write. That is, if I don't get too distracted by my _Supernatural _DVD's, reading _Buffy_ fanfic (Cordelia/Angel and Willow/Angel fic. I know, weird right?), and my original screenplays I'm working on. What little free time I've had, I keep getting distracted. And damn, Alyson Hannigan was so adorable in the early days of _Buffy. _Am I babbling? Damn. On with the story.

Oh, and give me feedback, please. Or if you wanna talk about _Supernatural _or the _Buffyverse. _Charisma Carpenter was a total babe, too. Whoops, babbling again. On with the show.

CHAPTER SEVEN: ROSWELL, PART TWO

Fifty yards. That's how far they crawled through raw sewage to get to the runoff tunnel. From there they walked a half-mile, emerging back on street level through a manhole cover located in a mall parking lot.

So, bathed in raw excrement, Rachel "requisitioned" a 1997 Ford F-150. Twenty minutes later they were riding northeast, just past the town of Acme. Rachel pulled the pickup into a gas station and turned off the engine, but made no move to exit the cab. For his part, Chuck grimaced, expecting the worst.

"Now that I've had a few minutes to calm down, I want to tell you something."

Oh boy. Here it comes. The button. She's gonna push the button. Chuck just knew it. Instead—

"I'm very proud of you," Rachel said.

Huh?

Rachel noticed his stunned expression. "I'm serious. It took guts to do what you did. Not to mention you picked quite possibly the best place to make your move short of inside a police precinct."

"Really?"

"Hell yes. A bank. A relatively controlled environment. You knew I was unarmed. A push of a button and the entire Roswell PD would come down on me. One criticism however, you probably should have made your move in the deposit's vault."

"Noted."

"But the fact you actually took a shot, that you seized the opportunity when your captor's advantage was neutralized, it speaks volumes about your capabilities as an agent."

"Uh...thanks."

"That being said..." Rachel creamed him with a left hook to the jaw. Chuck slumped unconscious. "Don't ever do it again."

-------------

The file arrived nearly an hour ago. Sarah and Casey had spent that time perched at their laptops, scouring for any bit of information that might indicate where Rachel was headed, and more importantly, what her plans were for Chuck.

Nearly 16 months ago, Sarah learned, Rachel was entrenched as the girlfriend of a Russian diplomat. The guy was dirty, using his influence to sell weapons to certain Middle Eastern nations. Turns out, the guy also discovered Rachel was an American operative. When the good guys moved on the false information he supplied her, a strike team of US Army Rangers was wiped out.

Rachel, naturally, was the sacrificial lamb. After a few months riding the bench, a year ago she was assigned a job far below the esteem of an agent of her skills. A babysitting gig in Frankfurt, Germany.

The asset, the chief computer specialist for a major German bank, Heinrich Beisel, discovered irregularities regarding the company's funds. In short, someone inside the bank was laundering money for a Neo-Nazi terrorist cell. The Neo-Nazi's found out that Heinrich had found out. They then decided Heinrich needed to be dead.

Four months ago, despite Rachel's best efforts, they succeeded. Having taken a bullet wound to the stomach, she was flown to the CIA substation hospital in Berlin, then transferred back to Langley where she was promptly placed on the bench. Only two years earlier she had been one of the brightest young stars in the agency – perhaps surpassed only by Sarah herself. Now, Rachel's career was in limbo. From what Sarah surmised from Deputy Director Coolbaugh, many in the CIA's upper echelon hoped Rachel would quietly resign and go away.

That's before she showed up in Los Angeles and kidnapped the Intersect.

"We're missing something," Sarah murmured.

Casey looked up from his copy of the same file. "What?"

Sarah slammed shut her laptop in frustration. "The _Thing,_ you know. The catalyst."

"Her career's going down the drain," Casey suggested. "Maybe she's decided to turn to the dark side. Be the best bad agent she can be."

"I don't believe that and neither do you."

"What the hell does it matter?" Casey snapped back. "Is there anything in her file to suggest where she might take Bartowski? Because if there is I completely missed it."

Before Sarah could snap back, her laptop beeped. She lifted the screen to see it had switched to a police report.

"We may have something," she reported. Casey immediately set aside his laptop and quickly found a place behind Sarah.

"Roswell, New Mexico," she stated. "Attempted armed robbery of Roswell Savings & Loan. Two suspects, male and female. The female suspect identified herself as Annabelle Reed, one of Rachel's known aliases."

Casey frowned in confusion. But that didn't stop him from rushing to his gun cabinet. "Why the hell did she identify herself? That doesn't make sense."

"You know how it is. Rarely do official reports contain the whole story."

Casey grunted in agreement. "Gear up. I'm calling for a jet. We can be in Roswell inside 80 minutes."

-----------

Devon was doing about 50 miles an hour on his stationary bike. Being confined to quarters the past couple days, the only thinking keeping him sane was hard core exercises.

Ellie sat upon a stool, sipping a glass of orange juice, staring vacantly out the window. She perked when Casey's apartment door opened and the two agents stepped out, each carrying a duffel bag.

"Devon, something's happening."

Devon was off the bike in an instant and only two steps behind Ellie as she threw open the front door and stormed into the courtyard.

"What's going on? Have you found him?" Ellie desperately asked.

"We have a confirmed sighting," Sarah admitted.

"Is he...?" Ellie couldn't bring herself to ask.

"As of a couple hours ago he was alive. Listen, Ellie, we gotta go..."

"I'm coming with you," the doctor insisted.

"No, you're not," Sarah snapped back.

"This is my brother," Ellie came back in an equally sharp tone. "He's my only family and I will be damned if I'm just gonna sit here and not go rescue him." Before Sarah could open her mouth, "Every moment you argue is a moment wasted."

Sarah looked to Casey, hoping for some sort of help. Casey shrugged. _It's your mess._ Sarah sighed.

"Fine. But remember two critical items: stay out of our way and stay quiet."

-------------

Highway 380

Somewhere east of Roswell, New Mexico

The Ford F-150 cruised along at a steady 70 mph. The cab reeked of raw sewage, but that wasn't what Rachel found most distracting.

It was the man next to her. Chuck Bartowski, slumped over in his seat, still unconscious from the left hook she delivered an hour earlier.

She was absolutely furious with him. By pulling that bank stunt he effectively brought them back onto the CIA's radar. Not to mention the remote chance of being shot by a two-bit security guard was decidedly NOT the way she wanted to go.

Yet, she couldn't help but be a little proud. It was a ballsy move. Rachel respected ballsy. Especially when it was contained in such an attractive package.

Rachel observed her companion. A wavy lock of unruly hair threatened to spill over his eyes. Impulsively, she removed one hand from the steering wheel, intent on brushing away the curl. Just before her fingers made contact—

"Sarah..." Chuck groggily murmured.

Rachel recoiled, as though shot. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. "Stupid," she softly admonished, upset with herself. "Don't be so stupid."

As Chuck roused back to consciousness, Rachel plastered on a smile. "Mornin', sunshine. Have a nice nap?" It sounded as if Chuck managed to direct a mumbled insult regarding her sexual proclivities. A small smile played at her lips. "Right back at you. Now, let's talk about things."

-----------

Roswell, New Mexico

Roswell First Savings & Loan

The Chief of Roswell Police instinctively stiffened at the arrival of a dark SUV with government plates. Barely an hour earlier a big shot female general had called him and told him to expect two federal agents, one CIA, the other NSA. It was strongly hinted that he give them his full cooperation.

Four people exited the vehicle. It was clear who the agents were. The older man was clearly a fed, what with the obvious Cop Face. But the other agent, it had to be the blonde girl. With the body of a fitness model, the young woman carried herself with a composure that suggested she ought not to be trifled with. But who were the two people with them?

"Chief Gaiman?" Cop Face asked, extending his hand. "I'm John Casey, NSA. My partner, Sarah Walker, CIA."

"And they are?" Gaiman asked, nodding to Ellie and Devon.

Casey hesitated a moment. Sarah lied easily, "Civilian consultants. Don't concern yourself with them. So what's the situation here? Are the subjects still inside the bank?"

"No ma'am. They slipped the perimeter shortly after our arrival. They locked the hostages in the bank vault, then proceeded down to the basement where they broke into the sewage main and crawled to an underground drainage tunnel."

"Please tell me you threw up blockades on the roads out of town," Sarah snapped.

"Ma'am," Gaiman stated calmly, "the majority of our force responded to the situation here. We didn't even know they had escaped the building until thirty minutes after the incident began. No, we didn't put up roadblocks, we were too focused on initiating contact. We finally breeched the bank after the lady inside didn't pick up the phone."

Before Sarah could launch into a tirade that would only alienate the local police, Casey grabbed her wrist to silence her. "Chief," he said, "we need to see whatever you have. Starting with surveillance footage from inside the bank."

Gaiman nodded at Casey, all the while taking a discrete step away from the fuming young blonde. Definitely not to be trifled with.

"My people are working on bringing it up as we speak. If you'll follow me."

As the agents and civilians moved to follow the Chief, Sarah's attention was captured by something in a nearby parking lot. "Hey Casey," she said. "Check out that ride."

Casey looked where Sarah pointed and spotted a piece of crap Toyota Corolla. "It ain't a Crown Vic," he retorted, confused by her interest.

"A 1992 Toyota Corolla. With _California_ plates."

Casey suddenly got it. "It's a getaway car."

"Cheap, non-descript, disposable," Sarah agreed. She then turned to Chief Gaiman. "Chief, call your dispatch. We need to know if there have been any cars reported stolen in the last three hours." To Casey, "Wanna check the bank while I get this?"

Casey gruffly nodded and followed Gaiman into the bank. To Sarah's chagrin, Devon and Ellie chose to stay with her.

"If you'd like to wait in the car..." Sarah let the thought hang. Devon and the future Mrs. Woodcombe folded their arms, not about to go anywhere. Sighing, Sarah pulled some latex gloves from her pocket and snapped them on. "Fine. This way."

After stopping by a patrol car to requisition a slim jim, Sarah led the group into the parking lot and the suspicious Toyota.

She first got on hands and knees to look underneath the car. Then she peeked in the crack between the front grill and hood. Satisfied by the results of her search, she popped the hood up to check the engine.

"What are you doing?" Devon asked.

"Making sure the car isn't booby trapped to explode," Sarah easily replied.

The young doctors tightened at the suggestion, but made no move to flee.

After popping open the driver's side door an inch, Sarah threw open the door, satisfied she wouldn't blow up, and began her investigation.

She first noticed a few strands of hair on the driver's side headrest. Pulling a strand taught, she held it up against the sunlight. She even sniffed the hair.

"Peroxide," she said decisively. "She's gone bottle blonde."

"I guess you would know," she heard Ellie mutter.

Sarah paused only briefly, equally impressed and hurt by Ellie's comment. Pushing aside emotion, she crawled across the seat, her eyes drawn to the passenger's side door handle. Scuff marks, circular pattern around the handle. Handcuffs.

She exited the car, opened the backseat and grabbed an old beat-to-crap leather duffel bag. She remembered Rachel having this bag back in their academy days. It was only in slightly better shape back then.

Sarah rifled through the bag and found a couple of Rachel's dummy ID's: Silvia Thomas and Tara Patrick. Various bits of clothing, cosmetics, couple full clips for her Beretta. Then, at the bottom--

A children's book. Worn from use. Written in German. Sarah frowned in confusion. Neither doctor seemed to get it either.

"What is it?" Ellie asked.

"German edition of _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Chronicles of Narnia._"

"Strange thing for a spy to have."

"I know," Sarah replied to Ellie's comment. "Rachel hates C.S. Lewis. I told her how much I loved the movie version and she laughed."

Everyone was silent for several moments as Sarah continued to search through the duffel. Finally, Ellie said tightly, "You know the woman who took my brother."

Sarah looked at the other woman, saw her anger. With a touch of remorse and slight nod, "Yeah. She's a good friend of mine. Or as good a friend as this business allows."

"Great choice of friends," Ellie quipped sourly.

Devon grabbed her arm, shot her a look. _Knock it off, it isn't helping_. Sarah just nodded slightly, again taking the shot.

"Yeah, uh, I'm lousy at relationships."

Ellie had a biting comment on the tip of her tongue, but Sarah's ringing cell phone cut it off. The blonde nodded quickly, said only, "We'll be there in a second." Disconnecting, she said to the doctors, "Surveillance footage is up."

After turning the Corolla over to Roswell PD for processing, Sarah led the way inside the bank. A patrolman then escorted them behind the counter, down the very same hallway Rachel and Chuck began their escape from.

When they entered the Security Office, Casey, Chief Gaiman, and a tech guy were already viewing the security footage.

"Anything of use?" Sarah immediately said.

"Dunno," Casey grunted. "Haven't been through the entire tape yet. Though we did come across this."

Casey pointed to the monitor.

_Rachel approaches the cashier's counter, Chuck behind her, a deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across his face. But as Rachel talks to the cashier, Chuck looks up to the security monitor and mouths:_

"_Sarah, I'm okay. Tell Ellie I love her."_

It took considerable effort, but Sarah calmed her breathing. _He's alive and well_ repeated like a mantra through her mind.

"Good," she nodded. "I'm gonna head down to the basement. Check their escape route."

To anyone but Casey, her response would seem removed, detached, even cold. That certainly seemed to be the case for Ellie. Casey knew better. For an agent, she really was lousy at hiding her emotions.

He saw the way she pinched her right thumb inside her fist. The way her facial muscles tightened. Even the way she was breathing – deep, too regular breaths – was indicative of someone desperately trying to lasso their anger. John Casey could say with one hundred percent certainty – that at this moment – Sarah Walker really wanted to shoot someone.

END PART


	8. Secret Agent Dreams, Part One

Okay, I know. Big damn hiatus. Sorry. I'm a bad, bad man. While I had some time to write this past month, I never got that burning desire. But now, I got the Click, baby. I swear, I really do. I'm finally working on Part 10 (Parts 8 and 9 have long been completed).

Yeah, this part is a little more mature than previous parts. Mostly because I doubt Sarah Walker dreams in PG-13. It shouldn't be too bad though.

Point of fact, this part was written well before "Versus The Suburbs". Crap. Has it been that long since I've worked on this?

Oh, and if you're a Buffyverse fan, please read my AUish fic, _Sarah the Vampire Slayer _(Where I said I'd be posting this part later tonight. Sorry. I got excited. Did I mention I got The Click?). Because Yvonne as a Slayer, doesn't it just make sense? No? Well crap. I thought it did.

CHAPTER EIGHT: SECRET AGENT DREAMS AND STRANGER THINGS, PART ONE

_Sarah pulled her Porsche 911 into the circle driveway of a large Victorian home. Parking behind a fully restored white 1970 Dodge Challenger, she cut the ignition and grabbed her coat and briefcase from the passenger's seat._

_Inside the house, she hung her coat on the rack. Dropped her briefcase on the curio and her keys into the _Star Wars _collectable dish. Just like she had nearly every day for the previous three years._

"_Honey! I'm home!" she called out. Damn, she loved saying that._

"_In the kitchen!" came a far off response. _

_Sarah didn't even need to ask. She could have followed her nose. The smell of homemade spaghetti sauce filled the downstairs hall. _

_She entered the kitchen and smiled. Sitting on a stool at the island counter, Chuck busily chopped celery as a program ran on a nearby laptop. _

"_Ah!" he cried dramatically. "If it isn't the delectable Miss Walker! How goes the world of corporate security?"_

_Sarah's smile turned to a smirk. Delectable. She rather liked that._

"_You mean the world where I provide security for rich businessmen to protect them against various threats, not limited to crazed former employees, corporate espionage, and alimony seeking ex-wives? Just peachy. And how goes the world of corporate computer systems security?"_

"_You mean the world where I provide security for rich businessmen to protect them against Trojan horses from rival companies, e-mails from alimony seeking ex-wives, and various viruses contracted while surfing the 'Net for hot Asian masseuses? Just peachy."_

_Chuck pulled her in for a long, slow, lingering kiss. "Aren't you glad I talked you into going into business together?"_

"_It wasn't your worst idea," Sarah begrudgingly admitted. It wasn't quite as interesting as quelling revolutions in Bolivia, but she got to come home to this every night. Plus, much as she loathed admitting, she wasn't as young as she once was..._

"_A flash of brilliance, pardon the pun," Chuck smirked. "You handle physical protection, I handle computer protection. Both well inside our wheelhouses." _

"_Speaking of which," Sarah asked as she hopped onto the counter, "how are the firewalls coming for the guys at Rysko?"_

"_Quite well, if I say so myself. I've had my best guys try to hack through the protection all day. No one's done it so far. And believe me, they're trying. I promised the winner two weeks paid vacation."_

"_That's my hubby," Sarah purred, wrapping her arms around Chuck's neck. "Always the master motivator." Her gold wedding band shone on her finger._

"_Hey," Chuck smirked, "I believe in rewarding good work. Besides, if I make the people around me happy, they tend to make me happy in return."_

"_Is that so? I do believe we should test that hypothesis, Mr. Bartowski. But first, I need you to do something for me."_

"_Yes, love?"_

_Sarah leaned in close, whispered huskily in his ear. "I've had an itch all day that's been in dire need of scratching. Can you help me out?"_

"_Oh? Where is it?"_

"_My leg."_

_The knuckles of Chuck's right hand brushed against the inside of her left knee. "Here?"_

_Sarah shook her head. "Higher."_

_Chuck's fingers slowly walked up her leg. "Tell me when I hit the spot," he breathed._

_Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing picked up slightly. Chuck stared in fascination at her lips as she softly breathed the word, "Warmer", a mantra as his hand continued on its journey._

_His hand slipped beneath her skirt. By now, her breath was coming in short, rapid pants. "Almost there," she breathed._

_Her eyes flew open as her head snapped back. A loud gasp escaped her lips._

"_There?" Chuck teased._

_Sarah didn't speak, didn't know if she could. So she nodded fervently. But Chuck wasn't having that._

"_Verbalize," he drawled._

_Blue eyes met brown. Sarah managed to gather her breath enough to say, "I've been thinking about you all day."_

"_Now that's what a boy likes to hear," Chuck grinned._

"_Chuck, please," Sarah whimpered, readjusting slightly, giving him better access, demanding he focus on her._

"_A boy likes that even better."_

_A slight tremor rippled through her body. About a 2.5 on the Richter scale. A nice start, but Chuck was sure he could do better._

"_Hang tight, baby," he whispered. "We should have time before—"_

_In the entrance hall, they heard the front door open, then slam shut. _

"—_Echo gets home," Chuck finished, a tinge of amusement in his voice. _

_Sarah, being left high – if not quite dry – was slightly less amused. Chuck delicately pulled her skirt back down, smoothing it out. Sarah buried her face in his shoulder, an attempt to regain her composure. _

"_That kid has your timing," she said into his shoulder._

_Chuck laughed as a little blonde and blue blur streaked into the kitchen. _

"_Mommy! Daddy! Look what I drawed today!"_

_A little 4-year old in a blue dress, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, rushed to her parents, arms outstretched, demanding to be picked up. Chuck happily obliged._

"_How's my girl?"_

"_Fine," the child replied in a sing-song voice. "You like my drawing?"_

_Chuck appraised the crayon drawing of a beagle puppy as though it were a Van Gogh. "I love it," he declared._

_Having regained her bearings, Sarah looked to the young babysitter standing in the kitchen doorway. "How was she today?"_

"_Same as usual," the babysitter smiled. "Mostly good, but darned if she doesn't manage to find a little trouble."_

"_I wonder where she gets that from," Sarah said with a pointed look to Chuck. He gasped in an appropriately mock innocent fashion. Sarah smiled, rolled her eyes. She reached out to take her daughter._

"_C'mere, Trouble. Let's go take a bath so daddy can finish dinner."_

_The child giggled madly as Sarah swung her around so that she could ride piggyback. _

_-------_

_It was tough to admit, but Sarah was sometimes jealous of him. He made parenting look so easy. Everything from the way he tied her shoes, brushed her hair, tucked her into bed..._

_For so long, Sarah had only herself to take care of. For so long, she couldn't count on anyone to take care of her. Which made it so hard sometimes to take care of a child._

_But then, at times like this, as Chuck lay in bed with their daughter reading a bedtime story, Sarah realized how silly an emotion jealousy was. Especially when it came to these two. They loved her unconditionally, and she loved them as such. _

_Chuck finished the story and looked down at his daughter. She had drifted off into Dreamland about 15 pages earlier. Very delicately, he untangled himself from his daughter's embrace and clicked off the table lamp. He then joined Sarah in the doorway._

"_Hey you," he smiled._

"_Hey you," she smiled back. She then looked to their daughter. "Echo. Most days I still can't believe I agreed to that name."_

"_Why? It's only fitting seeing how she's the spitting image of you."_

_Sarah groaned at the thought. "God help her when she reaches puberty."_

"_God help her?" Chuck questioned incredulously. "God help the rest of the world. With your looks and athletic prowess, combined with my sheer genius, the girl's gonna have the world conquered by the time she's thirty."_

"_Being mother to the empress of the world? I rather like that idea."_

"_Yeah, I hear it comes with a great retirement package." The couple shared a warm, lightly teasing smile. "So, still got that itch?" Chuck asked._

_With a sly look, Sarah reached down to the drawstring of her robe and released the knot. She pulled the garment open just enough to give Chuck a tantalizing view of the purple silk nightie she wore. A thrill shot through her body at his longing sigh._

"_It's worse than ever," she responded. Even after five years of marriage and nearly ten of knowing each other, she still reveled in the fact she had this effect on him._

"_Well, I'm sure my fingers can reach the spot."_

_Sarah bit her bottom lip in a manner she knew Chuck found irresistible. "Take me to bed, Mr. Bartowski."_

"_Of course, Mrs. Bartowski."_

_-------_

_They laid together in the wake of their exertions. Him atop her, still filling her. Sarah tasted his shoulder – the unmistakable flavor that was distinctly Charles Bartowski, mixed with the slight salty taste of sweat – and ran her fingers through his curly locks. At this moment, she never felt more happy and complete in her life._

"_Chuck," she panted, "say you'll never leave me."_

_He trailed a series of light kisses along her collarbone. "You couldn't drag me away."_

"_Now say you'll always love me."_

_Chuck stopped his ministrations, turned a curious look to his love. "Sarah, what's wrong?"_

_Her voice thick with emotion, "I'm just scared that one day I'll wake up from this dream. That you'll remember who you're living with: a woman with so many secrets, some of which if you knew..."_

_Chuck cupped her cheek lovingly, muttered soothing nonsense sounds. "Knock that crap off," he softly admonished. "I don't care about the woman you were before we met. I only care about the woman I know, the one I married, the one I'm crazy – and dare I say – borderline obsessed about. So chin up, darling. You're gonna be stuck with The Bartowski a while longer."_

_Laughter bubbled out of her. "The Bartowski? Think pretty high of yourself, do you?"_

"_Hey, you're the one who claimed to be thinking about me all day. So how about I give you something else to ponder?"_

_Sarah gasped as she felt Chuck revive inside her._

_---------_

"Walker, wake your ass up."

"Chuck?" she mumbled sleepily.

John Casey delivered Grunt #9 – exasperation, annoyance, and a healthy degree of disgust.

"Think again, Sleeping Beauty. We're back in LA." He paused a moment, inspecting her face. He indicated to his own, the left corner of his mouth. "Got a little drool there."

Expecting a snappy comeback, Casey was mildly disappointed when she simply said "Thank you" and wiped away the drool.

Sarah sighed. Disappointed as hell to wake up from such a splendid dream. Equally heartbroken to realize that's exactly what it was – a dream. And would always be so.

"C'mon," Casey encouraged. "Get up. We'll go home, grab a power nap, then get back to work."

Sarah watched as Casey grabbed his black duffel, and with Devon and Ellie, exited the plane. She lingered a moment, thinking about his words.

"Right. Home."

Whatever that was.

END PART


	9. OverUnder

_Okay. So I know Part Eight was an awkward resume point given how long this series was on hiatus (as Poa – I think - rightly pointed out to me in a PM). While that may be so, Number One, I wrote the part a couple months ago and simply didn't want to "throw out" a chapter I had written. Number Two, along with Part Three, Part Eight is probably my favorite of this story so far. Number Three, and probably most importantly, Part Twelve will be a companion piece of sorts told from Rachel's POV, hence the reason it was titled _Secret Agent Dreams and Stranger Things, Part One.

_Also, with the progress I'm making, expect Part Ten in about a week (Part Nine was the last I had "in the can" before my hiatus, so I wanna try to get a few part ahead again). Don't worry folks, I think I'm gonna cruise through Part 12 or 13 in relatively short order. And because I feel like giving spoilers, the titles for the next few parts will be:_

_Part Ten: The Vegas Job, __Part Eleven: About a Boy, __Part Twelve: Secret Agent Dreams and Stranger Things, Part Two, __Part Thirteen: Monsters (Tentative title)_

PART NINE: OVER/UNDER

"So what's the situation?" General Beckman inquired.

Sarah and Casey faced the main monitor inside Casey's apartment. The General seemed less than pleased by the amount of progress.

"We have a confirmed sighting of Agent Roe and the asset in New Mexico," Casey informed.

"Why was Agent Roe in New Mexico?"

"To make a withdrawal," Casey continued. "Agent Roe possessed a safety deposit box at this Roswell bank under her Annabelle Reed alias."

"And the contents of this box?"

"Undetermined. But if she's like any other agent, it probably contained rainy day cash and a few dummy ID's. A little something to help her disappear should the need arise," Casey concluded.

"And you are no closer to finding her and the Intersect?"

"She stole a pickup truck to make her getaway from Roswell. New Mexico Highway Patrol later found the vehicle abandoned near the Texas border."

"So that's a 'no'?" the General dryly asked.

Casey bit back a retort. "Yes, ma'am."

Beckman shifted her focus to Sarah. "Have you anything to add, Agent Walker?"

Sarah turned a rather chilly look on the General. "Not at this time."

Beckman either didn't notice or didn't care about her attitude. Merely said, "Progress report in six hours."

The screen went blank.

--------------

MOTEL ROOM

SOMEWHERE IN WEST TEXAS

It wasn't terribly fair, Chuck decided. If they were gonna fight, the least Rachel could do was uncuff him from the bedpost. It wasn't like he could actually _beat_ her. And frankly, it took some of the fun out of it. Hold on. Did he just think that? Fun? Blimey. Must be the Stockholm Syndrome.

"You kidnap me and expect me to just help you?! When's the last time the CIA had you drug tested? Or administered a CT scan? You really expect me to trust you?"

"No, _Charles_," Rachel snapped back. "I don't give a damn about your trust, I only care about your compliance. Of course, if you don't _want_ your sister to make it to her wedding day..."

"You even _think_ about touching my sister," Chuck snapped back, "and you lose all currency with me."

Whoa. Where was this bravado coming from?

"I don't think you're in a position to bargain, Chuck. You're just a tool I need to accomplish my objective. So don't for a minute think you or anyone you care about is anything but expendable."

"And what _do_ you need me for? Somehow I don't think I'm here just because you get lonely on long car trips. Tell me, _Rachel_, what do you have in store for me? What nefarious job do you need me for? Or are we just heading to a rendezvous with Fulcrum? C'mon, Rachel, tell me. How much does a Human Intersect go for these days? Is it enough to ease the guilt in your conscience about turning traitor? Or is guilt not even an issue anymore?"

Before Chuck could even blink, Rachel crossed the room, raised her right hand and delivered a devastating slap to his cheek. Chuck tried to recoil, but Rachel gripped his jaw in her hand and forced him to focus on her. With absolutely contempt—

"Don't you dare _ever_ insinuate that I would betray my country by handing over its single most important intelligence asset to a _terrorist organization_ like Fulcrum. Are we understood?"

When Rachel released her grip, no one was more surprised than Chuck when he fixed her with a hard gaze. "Oh, crystal."

Rachel released an exasperated cry of frustration. "Jeez, Chuck, are you this big a pain in the ass for Sarah?"

"First off, yes. Second, don't ever compare yourself to Sarah, because frankly, there is no comparison. You pale."

This time it was Rachel who recoiled. For the briefest of moments, Chuck thought she might break into tears. Instead, she gritted, "Black Jack Joe".

The flash hit Chuck like a sledgehammer.

- An Ace of Spades

_- A ledger full of betting information_

_- An FBI file with the name Joseph Paul Murphy_

_- A Las Vegas video screen with the betting lines for college basketball games_

_- An Ace of Spades_

"Ah!" Chuck cried out. His glare at Rachel didn't weaken. "Give a guy some warning!"

The anger and sadness instantly evaporated from Rachel's face. Now it was filled only with concern.

"God, Chuck, I'm sorry. Are you okay? Did it hurt?"

Once again, Chuck got whiplash from her sudden shift in emotion. With substantially less anger than before, he answered, "A little. Mostly it caught me off guard." Then, a moment later, "Why did I just flash on a bookie?"

"Because," Rachel said, "I need to place a wager. Where is he, Chuck?"

"He owns a dive just off the Vegas strip. Called the _Over/Under_." Chuck's eyes went wide, his mind still processing the flash information. "Oh wow. He's not a pleasant guy."

"They never are," Rachel said to herself. Then, aloud, "Pack your bags, Chuck. We're heading to Vegas. If you're a good boy, I might take you to see Celine Dion."

"If you're planning to kill me, there's no need to torture me first."

-----------

"_Chuck."_

That's what she said. On board that airplane, deep in the throes of sleep, Ellie distinctly heard her murmur his name.

Ellie ran her fingers through her hair. How dare she? How dare she dream about her brother after all that's happened?

She stared out the window into the courtyard. Once again, Sarah was camped out by the fountain. A cigarette to her lips, the German copy of _Chronicles of Narnia _in her lap. Was she... reading it? Did she have nothing better to do?

"You're thinking too much," Devon's voice called from behind her.

"What?" Ellie said, turning to him.

Devon slowed down on his stationary bike. "You're looking for... I'm not sure what you're looking for. But you're missing the obvious."

"Which is?"

"She's going as insane as you are."

Ellie scoffed. "Please. Don't you remember the bank? She barely flinched at the surveillance tape."

"Trying to retain a professional demeanor," Devon shrugged. "Most every doctor does it."

"Right," Ellie derisively declared. "The woman's a pro. She's lied to us nonstop for the past 18 months. Everything she's shown us has been a lie."

"I doubt that. You don't suddenly pick up chain smoking because everything's right with the world."

"She probably just sees her career going down the toilet."

Devon shook his head. "Babe, you're wrong, and I think you know it."

Ellie sighed, turned back to the window. Softly, she admitted, "Yeah, I know."

--------

Twenty minutes later, Sarah dragged herself into Casey's apartment. She collapsed in Casey's leather recliner and kicked out the footrest. With the _Chronicles of Narnia_ in her lap, she stared out into space.

In the kitchen, Casey was busy fixing a tuna salad sandwich. Cocking his head slightly, he gazed into the living area to observe his counterpart. Damn. She looked like hell.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Not even remotely," was her emotionless response.

Even though she wasn't looking, Casey nodded at the table loaded with audio surveillance equipment. "Sounds like the Sarah Walker Fan Club has one fewer member."

Sarah knew exactly what he was referring to. "Yeah. I know."

Casey grunted. That drew Sarah's attention.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That wasn't a 'nothing' grunt. Spill it."

While chewing on his first bite of sandwich: "Just surprised you're taking it so well. Even a blind man can see you've grown a little too fond of life around here. Now that your beau's sister hates your guts, I thought that might hurt your girly feelings."

For a brief instant, Sarah's eyes met his. In that instant, Casey could see a flood of pain flow free. And for most of that instant, Casey actually felt a tad bit sorry for her. But then, Casey remembered exactly who he was and that he didn't care. Nope. Not a bit.

"The person she loves most in the world is missing. Right now she's trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep her from going completely insane. If hating me is that thing then I'm not going to be so selfish as to try to take it away from her."

"Yeah? What are you holding on to?"

Staring at the book in her lap, Sarah said quietly, "Not sure that I am."

--------

THE HOUSE OF LOVE MOTEL

THE JUNGLE SUITE

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

As Chuck sat on the heart shaped bed with the leopard print sheets, his right wrist bound to the bedpost by a set of furry zebra handcuffs, he couldn't help but contemplate his life.

Eighteen months ago, it was absolutely ludicrous to think he would be sitting in a tacky Las Vegas motel room watching his renegade CIA captor take a hacksaw to a double barreled shotgun. Yet, alas, after driving nonstop for nearly ten hours, here he was.

Her new sawed off in hand, Rachel slipped a shell into each chamber. "Turkey shot," she explained. "I hit someone with this, coroner's gonna need a mop."

Fairly disturbed by the imagery, Chuck simply nodded. "Now I'm thankful you didn't bring dinner back."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Rush, rush, rush. So much to do, so little time."

Chuck watched as Rachel strapped a knife to the inside of her left wrist. "This guy, Joe Murphy, are you going to kill him?"

"If I have to," Rachel admitted. "Though that ain't exactly Plan A."

Chuck shook away the twisted sense of déjà vu. He watched as Rachel strung a thin piece of rope through a drill hole in the shotgun's shortened stock.

"You saw that in _The Terminator_, didn't you?"

Rachel froze a moment. "Yeah." Then, slightly defensive, "It's a good movie."

She slung the shotgun over her shoulder and shrugged on a duster. The weapon was mostly concealed. She looked up to the ceiling and posed for the mirror. To Chuck, she asked, "So how do I look?"

--------

_The entire situation_, Casey decided, _stunk to high heaven_.

Despite the fact the little punk cost him a toe, Casey couldn't help but take Bartowski's abduction personally. He was an important asset, maybe _the_ most important asset, and Casey was tasked to protect him.

Then there was Rachel Roe. Beautiful, intelligent, a superb field agent. And she could do this thing with her tongue...

Casey shook his head. _Focus, dammit! _

He and Sarah had their differences, sure, but Casey could agree with her on one fact. Something about this situation was off. Casey had worked a total of four operations with Rachel Roe, compiling approximately 44 days of service together. By lunch on the first day, Casey knew without question she was the type of agent you'd want guarding your back when you breached a door. A crack shot, fearless, and a heaping helping of integrity.

So why did she abduct The Intersect?

Of course, so much more than that made absolutely no sense. For starters, why Roswell? Casey figured even if that safety deposit box was loaded with bearer bonds, there couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 million in there. And if she planned on selling the Intersect...

They'd had this discussion. Himself, Beckman, Graham, and Walker. How much The Intersect could go for on the open market. Easily 50 million – and at the right auction – maybe even 100 or more. And with a 100 million dollar payday coming, you don't make a pit stop for a paltry five. You take the package, you collect your paycheck, then you find a nice beach in a non-extradition country and spend the rest of your days sipping mojitos and watching the cabana girls.

Of course, Casey didn't believe for a moment she intended to sell The Intersect. That being said, Casey didn't have the slightest clue as to how Rachel thought. All he knew was that he trusted her in the field and there was nobody more dynamic in the bedroom.

Looking over to his recliner, he watched as Sarah continued to read that damn book. _The Chronicles of Narnia_. In German. She seemed convinced the answer – or part of it – lay within its pages.

At this moment, it once again became clear that Walker felt something for the kid. Or at least thought she did. But whether it was something real or the hopeful, misguided fancy of an emotionally damaged woman playing along to a cruel facade, he couldn't tell. Was Walker even capable of loving Bartowski? Truly loving him? Or anyone for that matter, herself included? Hell, he doubted even she knew.

When most people within the intelligence community thought of Sarah Walker, they immediately recalled her "Golden Girl" rep. A CIA Deputy Director in waiting. And simply looking at the raw data, that rep could easily be believed. Glowing mission reports, high success rates, adulation for superiors.

Truth was, Sarah Walker was a screwed up kid who grew into a screwed up adult. Not that that was an uncommon story in the intelligence game, on the contrary, Casey's own upbringing was... complicated. But her story really took the cake.

Mother died when she was a girl. Raised by her nomadic con artist father. Plagued by an inability to form healthy attachments and interactions with others. She fell for her first partner, Bryce Larkin. Hell, Casey even had it on great authority that she had an affair with her mentor, James Craig (Seriously, the guy was 30 years her senior. How "ick" worthy is that?). Even just listening to her try to converse through a double date with Ellie and Devon was like watching a monkey trying to type Shakespeare.

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight back the impending migraine. Women and their feelings. They - both women and feelings - caused nothing but trouble. Doubly so when that woman with feelings was a CIA operative who on the rare occasion _did_ form a connection, it proved blindingly intense and all consuming. See the above example of Bryce Larkin and James Craig. And now, Chuck Bartowski.

In the end, it probably didn't matter whether her affection was real or illusion. So long as she played the part, it could trouble. And if the next few days didn't go _extraordinarily _well, it might also spell the end of Sarah Walker.

At least with Craig and Larkin, Walker could simply throw herself into the work to avoid dealing with the muss and fuss of emotions. Sure, that approach is unhealthy as hell (Or so all those NSA mandated shrinks had told him). But with Bartowski, he _was_ the work. When Casey said the end of Sarah Walker, he wasn't simply speaking of her career.

Things would be so much easier if Casey had simply asked Beckman to reassign the girl _months_ ago. But noooo. He had to be the honorable sort. The sort who wouldn't screw over a partner. Casey had a sneaking suspicion that honor would soon come back to bite him in the ass.

_When did things become so damn complicated?_ Casey wondered.

For months Casey had been keeping a mental wager, an over/under on Walker's inevitable burnout. At the beginning of this assignment, Casey took the "under" without hesitation. Now, it looked like he might win that bet.

Damn.

END PART


	10. The Vegas Job

Thanks, boys and girls, for all the wonderful reviews. I know you all are eagerly waiting for revelations regarding Rachel's motives. Things will start to come together, and by the end of Part 13, it's all gonna be clear.

PART TEN: THE VEGAS JOB

"_Just be cool and let me know if you do that flash-y thing. And if the shit starts to fly, find a table to hide under, Chuck."_

That's what Rachel told him before entering the club. It's never that easy.

On the inside, the club wasn't nearly as seedy as Chuck imagined. In fact, it was quite nice. Clean bar. Pool tables. Dart boards. Plasma TV's with sports packages. But that fact did nothing to quell his nerves.

In the car, minutes before, Rachel checked her ammo clip before slamming it back into her pistol.

"I expect full obedience, Chuck," she informed him. She then proceeded to slip him an earwig. He pushed the communication device into his left ear. Rachel put an identical device into her ear.

"So setting you up to be killed by the bad ass gangsters is unadvisable?"

Rachel turned away so Chuck couldn't see the wry smile that crossed her face. "Extremely. Because after I kill them, I'd have to go back to LA and put a bullet through Dr. Woodcombe. And believe me, Chuck. Old Joey and his boys can't touch me."

Chuck went into the club first. His mission was clear: to be the advance scout on this little mission. His instructions were to order a drink at the bar, do _That Flashy Thing_ as Rachel called it, then find a quiet corner to hide in so he could relay the info back to his captor.

So Chuck did as instructed. He went to the bar, did _That Flashy Thing_, and retreated to a corner booth to nurse his beer.

"_Chuck?" _a voice sing-songed in his ear. _"You still there? My button pushing finger is getting kinda itchy."_

"I'm here," he stage whispered in reply. "Joseph Murphy's at a corner table playing poker with a few unsavory guys."

"_You flashed?"_

"A world of yes. Patrick Laughlin, Warren Rogers, Corey Williams, Tony Todd, and Harvey Preston."

Chuck heard Rachel sigh in his ear.

"_Oh boy. Bookie, leg breaker, murderer, bookie/former leg breaker, and leg breaker."_

"How the hell do you know that?"

"_Chuck, really, these are my peeps."_

A minute later, Rachel entered the bar with a flourish, carrying a duffle bag. With a shit-eating grin, she asked, "Honey, I'm home!"

From the shadows, a beefy bodyguard sort emerged and threatened to take Rachel down from behind. Fast as lightening, Rachel drew her weapon on the man. The guard stopped, seeing his life flash before his eyes. Then, with a grin, Rachel flipped her weapon around, offering the guard the grip.

"Just lookin' for a quiet drink, my man."

Rachel then proceeded to drop the duffel and remove her duster. Hanging there on her shoulder for all to see was the sawed off double barrel.

"You like?" she quipped. "It's a Prada."

Two more armed bodyguards emerged, weapons drawn. Rachel held up her hands in surrender, turned around and slowly walked the few feet to the nearest wall, placing her palms flat against it.

"Frisk me, baby."

The bodyguard did so, using his beefy hands to start at her wrists. He frowned upon feeling something odd beneath her jumper. Pulling down the sleeve—

"Hey, how'd that get there?" Rachel innocently asked.

The bodyguard removed the four-inch blade and handed it to a buddy. Working down her body, he found something else at the small of her back.

"I swear, it's not mine."

Bodyguard #1 delivered the .22 pistol to Bodyguard #2. Number One then resumed his search.

"Whoa! Hello! Last guy to touch me like this wore latex gloves and had me put my feet in stirrups."

Bodyguard's hands made their way down her legs, ultimately to her combat boots. He lifted up the leg of her jeans, exposing a hunting knife tucked into the boot.

"Okay thatI honestly forgot about."

During this entire ordeal, the dozen or so bar patrons watched with disinterest. As if watching bodyguards disarm a customer of weapons was a nightly occurrence. And in a place like this, it was entirely possible.

Completely disarmed, Rachel turned to face her frisker. "Was it good for you?" she asked with an eyebrow waggle. The man shook his head and walked off. "So, you wanna go to dinner sometime? Maybe catch a movie? Call me! I love you!"

Rachel noticed how the second bodyguard took her arsenal and duffle bag behind the bar, placing the items beneath the counter.

Watching the scene, an amused little smile on his face, was Joseph Paul Murphy. Tall, gangly, slicked back black hair and sharp blue eyes. The man reeked of the look and smell of Vegas. Sharp black pinstripe suit, hot pink undershirt. Little too much jewelry on his fingers and around his neck. Plus, the ever present air of Aqua Velva.

"Well, well," Joseph greeted. "If it isn't Lucy Alders. Long time, no see, babe."

As Rachel moved towards the group of poker players, the three bodyguards lingered just behind, ready to intercede at a moment's notice.

"Joey, it's been too long," she smiled as Joseph pulled her into a deep kiss. In his corner, Chuck fought the urge to gag. "How's my favorite bookie?"

"I dunno," Joseph grinned. "How ya doin', Patrick?"

Joseph's poker buddies laughed at the funniest joke they ever heard. Chuck rolled his eyes.

"So what brings you here, love? If it's for my _'Welcome Home From Prison Party'_, then you're six months late."

"Sorry baby," Rachel cooed. "I would've been here, but six months ago I was... indisposed. And much as I'd like to make small talk, I'm actually here to discuss business."

"Oh?"

Joseph waved to their recently vacated poker table, offering her a seat. Like a gentleman – or a guy simply trying to work his way into her pants – he even pulled the chair out for her.

"Want a drink?"

"Yes, please. Beer. Whatever's on tap."

His poker buddies again assumed their regular seats, except for Corey Williams – the murderer of the group – whose chair Rachel had occupied. A bit of knowledge The Intersect may or may not possess, on top of a few murder collars – but no convictions – Williams also had a few sexual assault beefs. And as Williams slid into a nearby stool, he leered at Rachel like she was his next victim.

Joseph relayed the order to the bartender, who promptly returned with a mug of beer. He allowed Rachel to take a few sips before making with a few minutes of the perfunctory niceties. Afterwards they finally got down to business.

"So, Lucy, what did you say brought you to my humble business?"

"I need some information, Joey. About a client of yours."

Joey clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Luce, baby, you know a man in my position can't give out such information. Bookie/client confidentiality."

"I know, babe, and normally I wouldn't ask. But I desperately need this information." Without even looking back, she snapped her fingers at the beefy bodyguard who searched her. "Fetch my bag, please?"

"Simply out of curiosity," Joey began, "who is this supposed client of mine you wish to know about?"

"Alexander Paul Harris."

In his corner booth, Chuck's eyes dilated as a tidal wave of information rushed over him.

Ever so slightly, Joey's own eyes widened. "I might know him. But I don't see why I should disclose any information. Even to you."

"Which is why I'm prepared to make it worth your while."

The bodyguard arrived and set the duffel on the table.

"Toy bag?" Joey teased. "This is bringing back memories."

Rachel moved to zip open the bag, but Beefy stopped her. Backing off, and holding up her hands, she allowed Beefy to open the bag.

All eyes got a good look at the massive stacks of bills and bearer bonds.

"Four million, or 'round about," Rachel declared. "Enough to venture from your usual inscrutable standards in this one instance."

"You believe."

"I believe."

Joseph scratched lightly at his temple, his lips pursed, as if in deep consideration. After a few moments: "Let me tell you what I believe. I believe you're the reason I spent two years in prison."

Rachel didn't even hesitate. "Finally figured that out, did ya?"

Joseph reacted in astonishment. "That's it? No denial? No equivocation?"

Rachel flashed an _"Are you serious?"_ look. "Why should I? I'm proud of putting your sleazy ass in prison. How many people have you ruined financially? Had kicked out of their homes? Had their appendages broken because they couldn't make your exorbitant payments?"

Suddenly angry, Joseph stood and leaned across the table. "I spent _two years _in lockup!"

Annoyed, Rachel snapped back, "You spent two years in a medium security prison. Believe me, Joseph, I've seen some jails in my time – gulags, even – and two years in American medium security is like time at Club Med compared to some old Eastern Block hellholes. Four million is more than fair recompense for your mild discomfort."

"Well let me tell you what I believe, _Agent Roe_."

If Rachel was stunned to have her true identity known to him – which she was - it didn't show. A fact that sorely disappointed Joseph.

"Someone's been doing their homework," she coolly answered.

"I have. And would you like to hear what else I learned, Rachel? For starters, I heard that things haven't gone so well for you recently. A trend that I strongly suspect will continue. You see, the grapevine says you've been a naughty girl. So naughty your old bosses in the CIA put a Schedule Seven out on you. That being said, I'm still willing to wager they'll take you alive if they can. In fact, I'm wagering substantially _more _than four million on that idea. I also don't think they'll terribly mind what condition you're returned in, so long as you can answer their questions. And when I say condition, I mean black and blue. Now I think _that's_ fair recompense, don't you?"

Rachel paused a moment, formulating her answer. "Joseph?"

"Yeah?"

"You were always a bad lay."

Joseph's face tightened into a scowl. "Take her out back and tenderize her a bit. Keep her alive, preferably. But if you get carried away... well, no biggie."

Very quietly and with an eerie resolve, Rachel said, "Joseph, I really wish you'd reconsider. I'm offering you a very large payday and the added bonus of never seeing me again. But if you do this, I can't guarantee you won't get hurt. So I'm asking you, sincerely and properly, take my offer. The money for the info. Where can I find Alexander Harris?"

With just a tinge of amusement at her gall, Joseph nodded at Beefy and the two other bodyguards.

As Beefy and Guard #2 each grabbed onto one of her arms, Rachel shot the former a sorrowful look. "Sorry babe, but I gotta cancel our date."

Rachel stopped her right foot against the floor, causing a three-inch long blade to shoot out the tip of the boot. Before either guard could react, she made a move reminiscent of a leg sweep, but instead of knocking Beefy off his feet, she drove the blade through his left ankle.

Beefy's howl of pain was cut short by the vicious elbow that broke his nose.

Whirling about, Rachel quickly shook off the second guard's arm and delivered a knee to his gut.

At the poker table, several of Joey's poker buddies moved to draw their weapons. Spinning about, Rachel grabbed the table edge and lifted, overturning it and creating enough distraction to disable the third bodyguard with a right hook before the others could recover.

She made a break for the bar, leapfrogging the counter just before a hailstorm of bullets erupted.

"Guns, guns, gotta find my guns..." she muttered, barely flinching as bullets impacted all around her. Looking beneath the counter, she was bewildered to find the sight of an entire arsenal. Shotguns, pistols, knives. Everything a reputable bookie would need to fight off upset customers.

"Why the hell did I bother to bring my own?"

It wasn't exactly heroic, but soon as the action started, Chuck obeyed Rachel's orders. He ducked under the table and hid. But at least he got a good view of the action.

It was interesting to see the contrast of styles. With Sarah, it was like poetry in motion. Fluid movements orchestrated with dance like precision and grace. Always looking to catch her opponent off balance and capitalize.

With Rachel, it was like watching – no pun intended – a barroom brawl. There was nothing pretty or terribly graceful about her actions. Thinking back to a phrase he learned living with two doctors, Chuck came up with Blunt Force Trauma. Her actions were straight-ahead and brutal.

Breaking free of the action, Rachel leaped over the bar before the gunfire erupted.

Bodyguards Two and Three cautiously approached the counter, weapons drawn. Suddenly there was an explosion of wood – two concussive forces in quick succession - creating a great chasm in the midst of the bar counter – cutting the bodyguards down.

"I call shotgun!" Rachel's voice rang out.

"Is it really necessary to quip?" Chuck mumbled.

Another rain of gunfire was fired by Joey and boys, turning the bar to Swiss cheese. Several long moments passed with no movement. For an odd reason, Chuck felt a lead weight sink in his stomach. He was afraid she was dead? His kidnapper? What gives?

But then, a single bottle of alcohol was pitched over the counter, like a hand grenade, exploding on the floor before Joey and gang. Then another bottle, and another, nearly a dozen bottles in all, coating the floor in alcohol.

"Smoke 'em if you got 'em!" Rachel's voice called out. But something was wrong, she sounded ragged.

Chuck didn't have time to consider it further. Another bottle was thrown over the counter, this one with a piece of flaming cloth jammed inside.

The floor erupted in flames, engulfing the wounded bodies of the fallen bodyguards. Their piercing screams echoed throughout the building, giving Rachel a moment's distraction.

She emerged with a Beretta in one hand, a Smith and Wesson revolver in the other. She unloaded on the nearest baddie – Harvey Preston – and cut him down.

"Get everyone out of here!" she bellowed.

Chuck froze a moment. Until he realized those words were directed at him. Bolting into action, he began to wave at other patrons, drawing their attention. They began to evacuate, crawling along the row of booths, around the periphery of the inferno.

With the dozen or so patrons exiting, Chuck cast a look back to Rachel. She was busy driving the heel of her hand into Patrick Laughlin's nose, shattering it. She then grabbed hold of the man and used him as a bullet shield, blocking the rounds Tony Todd fired from his .44 revolver, the rounds slamming into Laughlin's back.

Rachel grabbed Laughlin's backup piece, still resting in its holster beneath his right arm. Without bothering to draw, she simply pulled the trigger, blasting three rounds through the holster and Laughlin's coat, the slugs knocking down Todd.

Drawing the weapon, she leveled her sights first on Joey. Squeezing the trigger, she put a round into Joey's knee – couldn't have him getting away in the confusion. She then turned on Warren Rogers and emptied the clip, catching him in the hip as he dove for cover.

Rachel was suddenly blindsided by the butt of a Desert Eagle slamming into her cheek. She reeled, collapsing back against the bar. Turning to her attacker, she fixed a vicious smile upon him, blood staining her teeth and trickling from her mouth.

"You hit like a girl," she gleefully informed him. Probably not the best strategy. Her opponent was a massive beast. Nearly 6'4 and 240 pounds. Maybe not the buffest 240, but powerful nonetheless.

Corey Williams snarled, the Desert Eagle aimed at her head. "I'd hate to mess that pretty face, but I don't exactly need you awake for what I got in mind."

"I bet you say that to all the girls. Now we gonna fight or trade innuendos all night?"

Williams ejected the clip out his Desert Eagle and pumped out the chambered round. Dropping the weapon, he assumed a fighting stance.

"Ready to go, girly?"

"I was about to ask you the same. Even down to the girly."

Williams struck first, a straight right hand whizzing just past her head. Rachel ducked it and dropped down, catching Williams in the gut with a right uppercut.

Williams reeled a bit. Rachel quickly followed with a left hook to the jaw, but the blow did nearly as much damage to her as him.

"Ooh," Williams taunted. "Somebody's got a boo-boo."

Williams slammed a beefy fist into her left shoulder. With a cry of pain, Rachel dropped to a knee. Williams captured her shoulder in his paw, gripping tight, his thumb actually forcing inside the fresh bullet wound.

"I wonder who clipped your wing." He clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Damn. Wasn't me. Desert Eagle would've busted your collarbone. Feels like a .38."

Rachel screamed when Williams added pressure.

"Oh yeah! Sounds like a .38."

In a sudden move, Rachel tried to bring her right fist into his groin. Williams saw it coming, grabbing her wrist and slamming her hand against the bar counter behind. He then wrapped his left hand around her throat and lifted. Rachel found her feet dangling two feet off the floor, staring down at a man with very twisted proclivities. And John Casey wasn't walking through that door to help her this time.

"Excuse me," a soft voice sounded behind Williams. The big man turned—

A burst of white gas erupted in his face. Williams dropped his captive like a sack of potatoes. Blinded for the moment, he stumbled about aimlessly.

"Chuck! Give it here!"

Chuck tossed Rachel the fire extinguisher. When the carbon dioxide began to clear, she creamed Williams up side the head. The big man dropped to his hands and knees. Swinging the extinguisher like an ax splitting wood, she cracked Williams in the back of the head. Lights out.

"Thanks for the assist," Rachel acknowledged. Though her eyes were focused on Joey Murphy. The man was currently crawling towards the exit. "Chuck, will you please retrieve my bag?"

Chuck nodded mutely and went to fetch it. Rachel moved over Joey, her combat book pressing into his wounded knee.

"Joey, you and I still need to talk."

None too gently, Rachel kicked Joey over onto his back. She needed to look into his eyes.

"Don't know where he is," Joey gasped. "Know where he's gonna be."

"Where?"

"Miami. The Sunrise Palace. Poker tournament. Sure bet to be there."

Rachel glared, judging his truthfulness. Ultimately judged him to be honest. "Okay." She took the bag of money from Chuck and dropped it by Joey. "Here you go."

Both Joey and Chuck stared at her in astonishment. Joey actually vocalized it.

"You're gonna give me the money?"

"That was the deal. The money for the info. And I always keep my deals. Plus, you get to tell your insurance adjustor all about the psychotic bitch who burned down your club. Nice payday there, too."

"This isn't over," Murphy spat.

Rachel stomped on his wounded knee. Murphy howled. "Yes, it is," she definitively stated. "We're Even Steven. You go your way, I go mine. Have a nice life, Joey."

With that, Rachel walked away.

----------

As Rachel exited the club, the energy seemed to evaporate from her body. Her store of adrenaline completely tapped out. She leaned against the hood of their car, struggling for breath. With a pained look at Chuck, she gasped--

"Where's a doctor when you..."

She got no further before passing out on the hood.

END PART

Yeah, I know. Why did Chuck save her? Good question, one my beta reader, BillAtWork, also asked. C'mon, my little chickadees, have a little faith. All will be explained... in Part 13. Did I mention Part 11 in Sarah-centric and Part 12 is a Rachel flashback? No? Damn, I guess you guys are gonna be hating me for a while, aren't ya? Expect Part 11 on Friday, May 8th and Part 12 the following day.


	11. About a Boy

_This part reintroduces a character, James Craig, who first appeared in my fic _Sarah Versus The Mysteries of Life _and was again mentioned in Part Nine of this fic, _Over/Under. _While it probably isn't necessary to read the former, I would recommend it. Not only to boost my readership and maybe garner an extra review or two, but because I think it gives the dynamic between Sarah and James, which I think is interesting. _

_A few notes: Okay, here's how it is. This is really the first chapter I've developed since my long layoff. And starting now, through the next handful of chapters, BillAtWork has been instrumental in the story breaking process. At this point, given the help he's supplied, if this were the television series, Bill would have been promoted from Executive Story Editor to Co-Executive Producer. That being said, we don't quite see eye-to-eye on this chapter. However, his points are valid, and I'll hopefully address them as this story continues. Those points relate to Sarah, her emotions, and her ability to love. So in the meantime, General Audience, enjoy this story. And have a little faith. _

_Oh, and I know I promised two new chapters this weekend, the next won't be posted until Tuesday. This part underwent a couple rewrites and Bill and I decided there needed to be a new Chapter 12. So that's the delay. Trust me when I say I'm still writing and not slacking off. Again. Peace out, my little ferrets. And P.S., don't flame me because this part doesn't pick up from Part 10. _

PART ELEVEN: ABOUT A BOY

When Agnes Craig answered the door, she was well prepared to greet her visitor. That is to say, she wore her best scowl on her face.

"Hello, Homewrecker."

Sarah Walker dipped her head, unable to look the older woman in the eye. Very softly, she replied, "Mrs. Craig."

"Here to see my husband?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Agnes sized up the woman before her. In nearly 35 years of marriage, she had put up with so much, forgiven so much. But this girl...

"Then I welcome you into my home, you little tramp."

Agnes stepped aside, allowing Sarah entrance. Without sparing the younger woman a second glance, Agnes called out in a booming voice, "James! Your whore's here!"

Sarah blanched considerably, but said nothing. Not like she didn't have it coming. Or so she thought.

"He'll be in his study," Agnes threw over her shoulder. "And be sure to let the door hit you on the ass on your way out."

And with that, Agnes disappeared into the living room.

Sarah simply stared after her a few moments. Just when she couldn't feel any crappier... "Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll see myself to the study. Thank you," she meekly finished.

It was simple enough to find the study. It was behind the massive double doors at the end of the hall of this fairly luxurious Santa Monica home. Sarah knocked at the doors, hearing a soft "Enter" from the other side.

The study was exactly as Sarah imagined. Large shelves of books around the periphery – James was a voracious reader. In the background – undoubtedly a vinyl – were the strains of Bobby Darin. _I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now. _And sitting there behind an antique oak desk – working at an equally antique Remington typewriter – was James.

Ten years later, Sarah still felt that rush upon seeing him. Pushing sixty, James was thirty years her senior. Literally twice her age. Old enough to be her father.

For several years, their relationship was regarded as the worst kept secret within the CIA's upper echelon. Fraternization between such a high level agent and raw recruit was typically forbidden. But James was a legend and Sarah was a rising star, so the brass turned a blind eye.

By the time Sarah became James' pupil, the older agent was admittedly five years past his prime. But that didn't stop Sarah from idolizing the agent who was half-jokingly/half-reverently nicknamed "007" by his subordinates and even a majority of his peers.

While it was Arthur Graham who recruited her to the CIA, it was James Craig who made her an agent. It was he who oversaw her development from ugly duckling to beautiful young woman. From a largely ignorant and uneducated thief with a few raw skills to a highly trained and exceptionally intelligent operative.

And over time, she fell in love with him. Perhaps an awkward and disgusting thought to some given their age difference, but at the time, Sarah didn't give a damn. For nearly five years, Sarah was the centerpiece of his world and knew it. And that was an incredible feeling for a girl who'd never received much attention of any kind from any member of the male gender – even her father.

What she appreciated most about James was his ability to listen. Sure, many of their conversations were work related. Discussions of interrogations tactics or the pros and cons of the AK-47 compared to the M-16. But then there were the personal talks. Besides discussions regarding books, music, and world travels, Sarah confided in James her most intimate dreams and desires, including her childhood equestrian ambitions – things she never even considered telling her father.

A guy who listens. What's not to love? Oh, and the debonair man-of-the-world wasn't exactly a turnoff either.

And yeah, being around him still gave her stomach that warm and fuzzy feeling, but Sarah had moved on. Men had come and gone since her days with James. The reason she was here tonight was the same reason she went to him so many times in the past – his knack for listening to her. That, and his uncanny ability to see into the heart of her problems.

"Ah!" James cried out, gingerly emerging from his leather armchair and circling the desk. When they last spoke on the phone a couple weeks earlier, he had confessed that arthritis was setting in. "If it isn't the incomparable Sarah Jane! How is my favorite girl?"

"Favorite girl?" Sarah asked, a smile naturally appearing on her face. "Better not let Agnes hear you say that."

James waved away her concern. "Please. She already knows."

She nodded to the typewriter. "Still working on that hard-boiled detective novel?"

"Toiling would be a more accurate description."

He wrapped her in a warm hug and pressed a kiss to her check. Sarah closed her eyes – and however briefly - allowed herself to be comforted by his familiar embrace and scent.

He pulled away, giving Sarah an appraising look. She blushed slightly at the attention.

"Janie, darling, you look wonderful. So don't take this the wrong way..."

"I'm eating enough," she said, beating him to the punch. _"Five more pounds," _he used to say. _"You could do with five more pounds."_

"So you say," he responded, not quite believing it. After a few moments, his smile disappeared, replaced by a stern expression. "Give them to me."

Sarah looked away, shuffled nervously. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. I won't have you falling back into bad habits. Give them to me."

"You're not my father," she retorted childishly.

"Perhaps not, but don't for a moment think you're too big or old for a spanking. Now give them to me."

Reaching into her jacket pocket, Sarah retrieved a half empty pack of Pall Mall's and placed them in James' outstretched hand. He promptly tossed them into the trash.

"I catch the scent of cigarettes on you again, young lady, and you and I will have a long talk."

"Yes, sir."

James nodded with an air of authority. The discussion was closed. To show he wasn't _too _upset, he offered Sarah a warm smile and beckoned her to follow him to a nearby wall cabinet.

"Drink?"

Sarah hesitated. "I don't know..."

"Janie, it's okay. The reason I keep liquor around is for my guests. Now what will you have?"

"Scotch, neat."

James proceeded to fix her drink – and a ginger ale for himself. He then beckoned her to follow him out the bay doors onto a small, moonlit patio. Offering her a seat, the pair enjoyed a few moments of silence.

That was the only caveat. Just like in the old days, nothing could be discussed those first few minutes – business or personal. It was simply a time to sit in companionable silence, reflect, and as James jokingly put it, allow the liquor to take effect.

"So what brings you to my humble abode, Janie?" he asked, indicating the reflection period was over.

"Humble? I'd love to see your definition of lavish."

"That serious, huh?" Off Sarah's curious expression: "Evasive with a side of flippant. Dead giveaway."

Sarah smiled. He knew her too well. "Remember that friend I told you about? Charlie?"

"The one you're gaga over?"

"Yeah, him."

"Went and got himself kidnapped, didn't he?" She shouldn't have been surprised. James _always_ knew. Yet shock must have reflected on her face. "My eyesight might not be what it once was, but my hearing is just fine." After another moment: "How you holding up?"

"I've smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for the past week."

"Smells like it."

"James," she answered with a slight whine.

He wouldn't have it. With a dismissive wave: "The subject's dropped. Now tell me what you know about the situation. Tell me about Rachel."

"You know her?"

"I do. I mentored her for a short time after our, uh, partnership... dissolved."

"Oh." Okay, so men _had _come and gone, but that didn't mean she couldn't be a little jealous. On the plus side, it was a completely _irrational _jealously.

"The relationship between Rachel and I was strictly professional."

"It isn't my concern..."

"Janie..."

"The subject's dropped."

Sarah instantly regretted her sharp tone, but James apparently thought it justified.

"Tell me what you know," he gently prodded.

"Nothing," Sarah admitted. "She lured my partner and I to a hotel under the pretense of 'catching up', drugged us, and abducted Charlie. Few days later she shows up in Roswell, New Mexico to raid a lockbox."

"Petty cash," James mused.

"That was our assumption."

"Strange. Why wait _after _the abduction to make a withdrawal? That makes no sense." He saw the strange expression she wore. "But that isn't the strangest part to you, is it?"

Regretful, she said, "I can't tell everything, James. Not even to you."

"Quite right, Janie darling."

After taking a pull off her scotch, Sarah hesitantly asked, "What was your impression of Rachel?"

"Actually, I thought the two of you to be extraordinarily similar. By that I mean you're both too good of persons for this job."

"What else?"

"Grew up in a broken home. I won't get into specifics. Even with the present situation, I will not break the confidence she put in me. Highly intelligent, driven. Absolutely dedicated to her profession and her country. Though a nasty tendency to allow emotions to override her better judgment."

Sarah shook her head in frustration. "I just don't know. I can't figure what this is about."

"This is... a bold act," James declared. "An act which she is well aware there is no coming back from. So whatever _it _is, that driving force, must be huge and wholly worth sacrificing a decade's worth of hard work to obtain."

"What do you think it could be?"

With a raised brow and shrug of his shoulders, James mused, "If it were a man I could venture a guess. Two, actually. First would be money, but really, there are easier ways of making a buck."

"And the second?"

"A woman. Throughout the course of human history, if but one fact has been proven it's that a man will do the stupidest damn things imaginable over a pretty girl."

Sarah nodded, indicating that was extremely helpful. In a way that completely wasn't. She said as much.

"I said I could venture a guess if she were a _man_," James defended. "Put yourself in her shoes. A decade of service to your country. Believing in and giving yourself over to a cause greater than your own life. What's that one thing that would make you turn your back on everything you know?"

The answer hit Sarah suddenly and like a load of bricks. How the hell didn't she see it before? Setting aside her drink, she bolted from the chair.

"Janie?" he called, struggling to his feet.

"I'm an idiot," she declared hotly. She was already moving for the study door.

"What's her motive, Janie?" he called. She needed to say it, needed to embrace it. "What's it about?"

"It's about a boy," Sarah answered decisively. "To do something this stupid, it has to be about a boy."

Just before Sarah reached the door, James' voice echoed behind her. "I was telling the truth. About Rachel and I. Our relationship _was_ strictly professional, Janie. She knew I was yours."

Sarah looked back, an inexplicable wave of relief washing over her. She rushed to the older man, embracing him in a hug. "James..."

James simply smiled. "How many times have I told you? You never have to say it. Now go get your boy."

While she didn't vocalize it, she knew her smile echoed her thoughts.

_Thank you_.

END PART


	12. First Aid

_Hello, my little weasels. Thanks again for all the reviews. Keep 'em coming. I know I said Tuesday, but I changed my mine. So please enjoy. Things are really fixing to ratchet up. I can't tell you how stoked I am to write the next few parts. _

CHAPTER TWELVE: FIRST AID

Living with a couple doctors provided some useful information. First aid, CPR, the Heimlich. Though Chuck was fairly certain they never addressed the issue of gunshot wounds.

The few moments after Rachel's collapse, a million different thoughts ran through Chuck's mind. Oddly enough, turning his captor over to the authorities was nowhere in the top ten. Of course, taking her to the hospital wasn't either, though for a completely different reason.

"Doctor's have to report gunshot wounds," Chuck muttered as he piloted their stolen car. He spared a glance in the rearview mirror. Rachel was out cold, blood seeping through her shirt. Her skin was pale and clammy. She didn't look good.

"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?" he repeated frantically.

Two minutes later, Chuck roared into the courtyard of their hotel. He slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a halt at their door. Hurriedly, he leapt from the vehicle, throwing open the rear passenger door. Rachel collapsed into his arms.

Very delicately, with a strength he didn't quite know he had, Chuck scooped the wounded agent up and carried her to the door. Cradling her in one arm, his free hand jammed a key into the lock.

Once inside, he delicately laid his cargo on the bed. Searching through Rachel's bag, she found a pocketknife and a pint of whiskey.

"Gonna have to do," Chuck decided.

Again, with a surprising resolve, Chuck used the pocketknife to slice away Rachel's shirt. But then, for a brief moment, Regular Chuck returned, and a wave of nausea struck at the bloody sight.

The bullet entered above her left breast, just below the shoulder. Gently, Chuck turned her over, checking her backside.

Crap. No exit wound. That wasn't good.

Chuck grabbed one of the pillows and ripped away the case. After splashing some whiskey on the wound to disinfect – and taking a shot for himself – he tightly rapped the pillowcase around her shoulder to slow the bleed and cover the wound.

She needed a doctor. Right now.

"Where the hell do I find a doctor?" Chuck wondered. "Why can't I know a damn doctor?"

Oh... balls.

Chuck's hand dipped into the back right pocket of Rachel's jeans and found her iPhone.

-----------

Exiting James Craig's house, Sarah walked across the circle drive and slipped behind the wheel of her Porsche. Soon as she closed the door, she sagged in her seat, suddenly drained emotionally. Individually, James and Chuck had that effect on her. Talking _to _James _about _Chuck proved doubly so.

It didn't help that she experienced a moment of schoolgirl jealousy when James mentioned his relationship with Rachel. She didn't love him, not anymore, not like that. It was just...

"Ahhhhh!" Sarah screamed, pounding the steering wheel. "I should just be a lesbian! Boys are nothing but a _freakin' pain in the ass_!"

She hadn't slept in a week. Chuck was missing, who knows in what condition. And seeing James again... Emotions were bubbling to the surface. And she just wasn't good at emotions. Stupid emotionally repressed childhood.

She. Really. Needed. A. Cigarette.

But knowing she gave her word to James, Sarah instead elected to slam her foot on the gas, pushing the speedometer over 100 as she blasted onto the freeway. An adrenaline rush would have to do.

The speedometer pushed past 120. The Porsche 911 dived in an out of traffic, moving past the others cars as though they were in idle.

"_Freakin' girly feelings!_" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Maybe James and Casey are right," she continued ranting. "Maybe I can't do this job. Maybe I get so caught up in what I feel I lose perspective."

A beat. Then:

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_"

She punctuated the scream by slamming her fist into the car horn several times. So loud was her catharsis that she nearly missed the fact her iPhone vibrated in her pocket.

She reached into her pocket and removed the device. Staring at the display, she frowned at an unfamiliar number. Briefly considering tossing the damn thing out the window, she instead jabbed the 'Answer' button.

"What?!" she snapped into the phone.

There was a brief silence on the other end. A familiar silence. Sarah's heart soared.

"Chuck?"

"Sarah... I need help."

-----------

Ellie was idly flipping through the pages of a bridal magazine when the front door opened. Sarah swept in.

"Where's Devon?" she demanded.

"In our room trying to get some sleep. Look, I know we're under 24/7 lockdown, but that does not give you the right to just barge in here."

"Ellie, listen, you're pissed at me, I get it. But right now I need you to do three things. First, shut up. Second, grab a medical bag. Third, come with me. We need to be gone before Casey's next surveillance shift begins."

"Excuse me?" Secret Agent or not, Ellie was about to pummel the woman for ordering her to shut up.

"Do you want to find your brother? Then come with me before Casey gets back."

Ellie's eyes narrowed distrustfully. "Why? Do you not trust him to retrieve my brother?"

"When it comes to breeching a door, I _know_ John Casey will back me up. When it comes to bringing Chuck home in one piece, I _think _Casey would do right, but I don't _know _he would."

Despite the somewhat ominous implications of that statement, Ellie latched onto the comment just before. "Hold on! Do you know where my brother is?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Somewhere in Vegas."

Ellie's relief was cut down fairly quickly as she recalled Sarah's second condition. "Why do I need a medical bag?" She instantly paled. "Oh God. Is Chuck hurt?"

Sarah was unsure how to answer. So she merely repeated the words Chuck had told her minutes earlier. "He says he needs a doctor. Didn't say why."

_Don't think too hard about it_, Sarah told herself. _It's Chuck, he never gets hurt._

"Give me five minutes," Ellie said, already heading for the hall closet.

"Be ready in three. I still need to commandeer us a secure vehicle."

"You mean steal."

Sarah's stared back blankly. "Two and half minutes. And don't tell Devon where we're going."

Ellie grunted in annoyance and hurriedly retreated into the bedroom.

She cast a quick, envious glance at her slumbering fiancée. Since this ordeal had begun, he'd managed to secure three or fours hours sleep a night. About twice the amount she could manage.

She reached into her closet and retrieved her black medical bag. Just like her counterparts of days gone by carried when making house calls. Sure, in this day and age, it was probably a little hokie. But it was her graduation gift from Chuck, which is why she absolutely adored it.

Her brow furrowed. And now its contents were going to be used on her brother. He was hurt, she was just sure of it. Her baby brother was kidnapped by a bitch whose world he didn't belong in and now he was hurt.

And she wasn't necessarily talking about Rachel.

Damn that woman! Damn her for pulling Chuck into this Secret Agent World. Damn her for pulling Devon and herself into it. And especially damn her for feeling guilty about it. Things would be _so _much simpler if Ellie knew the blonde agent was an unfeeling bitch...

Back to her fiancée...

Who was _she _to give such an order? He was the man she would marry. And Ellie simply wouldn't leave him in the dark. So Ellie found a message pad and scribbled a quick note.

A few moments later, Ellie reappeared in the living room, medical bag in hand.

"You ready?" Sarah asked.

"Lead the way, Agent Walker."

--------------

Twenty minutes later, Ellie was astounded when Sarah drove her Porsche into a mall parking lot.

"What are we doing here?"

"I told you," Sarah said, drawing a slim jim from beneath her seat. "We need to commandeer a new ride."

Sarah was out of the car quickly. Ellie fumbled with her medical bag a moment before joining her.

Sarah perused the aisles of cars like she was searching for fruit at the produce stand. Glancing the rides over, giving their tires a slight kick.

After a few moments of growing irritability, Ellie snapped, "Are you just about done? Don't we have someplace to be?"

"Don't rush me," Sarah snapped back. "I need to find one..." Sarah trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought. _I need to find one Chuck will like._

She finally found it in Aisle 4B.

"There we go."

Looking about, seeing if anyone was watching, Sarah slipped the slim jim into the driver's side door of a black 2009 Dodge Challenger.

"They teach grand theft auto at the CIA academy?" Ellie questioned harshly.

"No. Cleveland," Sarah answered. She cracked open the door and slid inside.

"Buckle up," she said from the driver's seat, unlocking the passenger's side door for Ellie to slide in. "Once I hit an Interstate, I tend to go kinda... fast."

--------------

If Chuck didn't know better, he would swear an infection was already setting in.

Her skin was even sweatier and clammier. As Chuck placed a hand over her forehead, he was stunned by the heat. But even out cold, she seemed to respond to his touch. She leaned into it a bit, a slight smile gracing her face.

"Heinrich..." she murmured.

Chuck recoiled. Who?

"Heinrich..." she murmured again.

"I'm here," Chuck said. Magically, those two words seemed to sooth the fitful agent.

As Chuck pondered just who the hell Heinrich was – and how long it would take Sarah to get Ellie here – he suddenly recalled something. Something that had been nagging him since the beginning. And the answer was in his hands.

Rachel's iPhone.

-----------

Ever since they were children, Ellie habitually poked fun at one of Chuck's little quirks.

While playing video games – dating back to the days of the original NES, the one system _she _actually played – Chuck had this habit of contorting his body in conjunction with the onscreen action. It didn't matter what he was playing: Contra, Lifeforce, Castlevania, Zelda, or Kid Icarus. Sitting Indian style on the floor, his little body would pop an inch or two off the ground as his on-screen character jumped. Or he would lean left or right as his on-screen persona ducked and dodged bullets, arrows, or various fiends from hell. Or even lean back sharply when something on-screen managed to surprise him.

Driving shotgun in a Dodge Challenger currently roaring away at 115 mph on Interstate 15 eastbound, Ellie suddenly thought of those days. It may have been due to the way she contorted violently in her seat, fiercely gripping the seat or door handle so tightly her entire hand turns white.

She spared a quick glance at Sarah. She had one hand on the steering wheel – and only one eye on the road – as she maneuvered the Challenger around a Chevy Malibu doing a piddly 75. Her other hand and eye were focused on her lap, casually perusing through the car's CD collection.

"Crap. Crap. Okay. Double crap. Oh yeah. Here's a good one."

She ejected the Blue October CD from the player and tossed it out the window, replacing it with AC/DC. The first manic strains of musicemanated from a very sweet stereo system. Ellie's eyes widened as she recognized the opening chords.

_Oh Lord, _Ellie thought. _She really is in love with my brother. She's gone completely insane._

"_I'm on the High-way to Hell_!" Sarah belted out loudly, her hands beating out the drum rhythm on the steering wheel.

-----------

There had been several times he'd caught her glancing at her phone, her thumb brushing against the screen in the tell-tell motion of scrolling. So as Chuck began to search through the phone's functions, he softly murmured, "Pictures. It's gotta be pictures."

He thought this because he recognized that thumb motion. The scrolling through dozens of digital images. He also knew because of the bare wisp of a smile that would grace Rachel's features, the same look Ellie described him as having whenever he viewed pictures of—

Oh boy.

Ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy.

Suddenly Chuck knew. All those strange instances. Those awkward moments. Every weird vibe he ever caught off Rachel was justified. There was a reason for it all.

And now he'd gone and told Sarah she was here.

"Oh crap," Chuck decreed.

Frantically, he began to grab all the various items laying about the room. Weapons, clothing, food...

What the hell was he doing? No time for that! Besides, those were all things they could buy later! He had to get Rachel out of here! Right freakin' now!

He went to Rachel's side and bundled up her nearly nude form in the leopard print blanket – he'd shed her clothes down to her underwear once the fever kicked it – and delicately lifted her up. "Keys, keys, where the hell'd I put the car keys?"

He found them next to the television. Maneuvering Rachel into the crook of his right arm, he snatched up the keys. He felt a little bad skipping out on their bill. Maybe Rachel wouldn't mind if he mailed payment to the motel manager once they cleared the city.

"Hold on, Rachel," he begged. "I'll figure out what to do. Just hang with me."

Just as he was about to reach for the doorknob, the door kicked open from the outside. Backlit by the afternoon sun, Sarah Walker strode into the room, her Colt at the ready. And right behind her, with almost euphoric relief etched on her face, was Ellie.

"Chuck?" Sarah questioned, not quite believing she'd found him. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Are you okay?"

Whatever answer she was expecting, it wasn't for him to bemoan:

"Oh, double crap."

END PART

Oh yeah. How's that for an ending? Stay tuned, next weekend, Part 13, _Secret Agent Dreams and Stranger Things, Part II_.


	13. Secret Agent Dreams, Part Two

Okay, boys and girls. This is it. The part where so many little threads come together. While this part doesn't reveal _every _answer, it probably reveals a good 80 percent. At the very least, you might want to review Roswell, Part II before reading. So many threads reference back to that part.

Also, this part is MASSIVE. Over 19 pages, 6200 words. Practically two to three times the size of most other parts. So I don't want any lip, my little wallabies.

And finally, I'm really proud of this chapter. In my own opinion, it's about as good a chapter of fanfic I've ever written. So I'd especially appreciate reviews for it, good or bad. Thanks.

PART THIRTEEN: SECRET AGENT DREAMS AND STRANGER THINGS, PART TWO

_Just breathe._

_Just breathe._

_Don't scream. _

_Keep it together._

_Can't lose it now._

_Just hold on._

_Hold on._

_Please, God, don't go._

_So much blood. _

_What do I do?_

_I need you._

_What do I do?!_

_Don't leave me._

_I can't breath._

_I love you._

_Just breath, just breath, just breath... _

_---------------_

"_Babysitting? Because that's what this is, a babysitting job. So you gonna leave me enough money to order a pizza or should I just raid the fridge for leftovers?"_

"_Agent Roe—"_

"_So what time is Mr. Beisel's beddy-by? He's old enough to bathe himself, right?"_

"_Agent Roe, I understand your frustration, but _you _put yourself in this situation. Remember that."_

_--------------_

"_Agent Roe, allow me to introduce Heinrich Beisel." Her superior agent leaned in, whispered into her ear: "For the foreseeable future, _he _is your entire world. Understood?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

_At first glance, she didn't think much of Heinrich Beisel. Tall, a bit gangly, with deep brown eyes and a mop of unruly brown hair. With black wire rim glasses and white button down dress shirt. _

"_Good day, Agent Roe," Heinrich greeted warmly. "This is my daughter, Sabine. Sabine, say hello to Fräulein Roe."_

_A young girl stepped forward, eight years old. With long brunette hair and an oddly familiar set of chocolate brown eyes. The child stared up at Rachel with wide eyes, amazed by the towering redhead before her. Then the child seemed to recover from her initial shock, and with a cheeky little smile, curtsied in her lovely floral print sundress. _

"_Guter Tag, Fräulein Roe," she said._

_Rachel fought to keep a smile from appearing on her own face. She couldn't help but be charmed. She bowed slightly at the child. "Guter Tag, Fräulein Beisel."_

_----------_

_It was certainly a change of pace. Turns out, this job wasn't nearly as bad as she originally thought. Okay, so she wasn't chasing arms dealers and human traffickers around the Eastern Block, but the dress code was easier._

_And when you're pretending to be the new girlfriend of a widowed vice-president and chief computer specialist for Germany's largest bank who also happens to come from significant family money, you can't simply go around wearing standard G-man suits._

_Rachel still wasn't used to the flowy sundresses and sandals she was to wear around the Beisel estate. On the plus side, dresses allowed for better execution of kicks. Down side, she had to think of imaginative ways to strap on her Beretta. And where to hide her spare clip. _

_Dress code aside, it wasn't exactly torture to sit outside on the patio of Schloss Beisel, sipping lemonade and eating the lunch the kitchen staff served. And all she had to do was watch over Sabine._

_The little girl was presently sitting at the same table, working with a set of watercolor paints. She was attempting to recreate the west wing of the villa. _

"_Do you like it, Rachel?"_

"_It's very good," Rachel answered honestly. And for an eight year old it was. _

"_Would you like to try?"_

"_Uh...sure."_

_Rachel pulled her seat closer to Sabine and took the offered sheet of paper and paintbrush. It had been ages since she held a brush, nearly ten years._

_She wasn't even aware of the slight smile that suddenly graced her face. Her hand moved nearly of its own accord, sweeping between the paper and the paints, creating marvelously accurate colors from the cheap, store bought set. _

_Sabine laughed in delight when Rachel finished the project. "Rachel, it's beautiful!" she decreed. _

"_Not bad for being so out of practice, is it?" Rachel asked, quite pleased with her effort. She never actually cared for watercolors. Now oils, she was a master at oils..._

"_How is my girl?" a voice called out._

_Laughing, Sabine launched herself into her father's outstretched arms. In a swift move, the child was on her father's back receiving a horsey back ride, replete with a few enthusiastic "Neighs". Rachel couldn't help but smile._

"_Daddy! Look at what Rachel painted! Isn't she good?"_

_With a giggling girl on his back, Heinrich peered down at the watercolor on the patio table. His brows lifted in wonder._

"_You made that... with those? That is extraordinary."_

_Rachel briefly wondered why his compliment brought a heat to her cheeks. _

"_Do you paint often?"_

"_No, not in years. I, uh, haven't had time since joining the Agency."_

"_A shame," Heinrich declared. "I see a true talent."_

"_I always loved painting. I used to skip school and hang out in my room experimenting with colors. It was my one safe place when I was growing up."_

_Rachel's cheeks flushed once more, this time from embarrassment. Why the hell did she say that aloud? She was terribly grateful when Heinrich didn't pursue the topic. Though the next conversation topic still left her feeling awkward._

"_We should go on a date tonight."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_What sort of fake beau would I be if I didn't take my fake girlfriend out on occasion? After all, mein liebes, we must keep up appearances."_

_Strictly speaking, he wasn't mistaken. But Rachel was still a little befuddled and disturbed that the first words she replied with were: _

"_What should I wear?"_

_Heinrich smiled broadly. "Leave it to me."_

_-----------_

_Rachel tried not to wonder too hard why the satiny green dress she currently wore fit so perfectly. Certainly he didn't contact her bosses to inquire about her dress size. No, that wouldn't explain how the bust fit so well. She always needed to make alterations on top. And it wasn't like she had any ridiculously expensive evening gowns of her own lying around in her expansive walk in closet of the venerable Beisel Estate (of Beisel Steel and Shipping fame). _

_Maybe he just had a really good eye. A _really, really _good eye._

_Nor did she put too much though into why she blushed – she never used to blush! – when Heinrich pulled out her chair like a perfect gentleman. _

_Nor did she put much thought into how easy idle dinner conversation with him was. Or how she found herself genuinely listening to him talk about computer systems and chuckling at his silly jokes. _

_And she especially didn't put too much thought into that spark of electricity that shot up her arm and directly into her brain when their hands touched while simultaneously reaching for the wine bottle. _

_Man, she was thinking too damn much. _

"_I can't understand how you don't like the Impressionists," Heinrich said in disbelief._

"_They're too pretty," Rachel answered after a sip of pinot noir. _

"_Too pretty? No such thing."_

"_Give me a Dutch Baroque any day," Rachel insisted. "Vermeer, Rembrandt, Ruisdael. Not so much Rubens, the chubby chaser."_

_And she _really _didn't put too much thought into the warm, happy feeling she got at eliciting a full blown laugh from her companion at that comment. _

"_I like the Romantics, by and large. Particularly Joseph Turner and Thomas Cole. Love me some Jean Baptiste Carot, though he's more Neo-Classical. And don't get me started on this Modernist crap."_

"_So why government work?" Heinrich asked. "Why not become an artist?"_

"_That was the plan, actually," Rachel said, suddenly finding her wine glass fascinating. "I used to dream about attending the Hudson University Art Institute in Manhattan. Actually, I kinda got accepted to go."_

_Heinrich was flabbergasted. "Incredible. Hudson is one of the premier art institutes in the world. Why didn't you attend?"_

"_Stuff happened," Rachel vaguely stated. "Didn't have time for it anymore." _

"_It is my opinion, my dear Miss Roe, that we should always make room for our true passions."_

_Before the situation became too morose, Heinrich extended his hand to Rachel. "Dance with me."_

"_I don't know..." Rachel began._

"_We must keep up appearances. Remember, we're a couple now."_

_Strictly speaking, he wasn't mistaken. "There's no one on the floor."_

"_Then we'll be trend starters. May I have this dance?"_

_While she contemplated the question for at least five seconds, the answer came immediately to mind. "Okay. So long as the song isn't up tempo. And keep your hands where I can see them."_

_His laugh sent a warm vibration down her spine to her... Oh yeah, thinking too much. _

_Rachel suddenly felt very exposed on the dance floor. While the band played soft music as background noise for the restaurant patrons, none had dared stepped onto the floor. Until now. _

_Heinrich whispered a few words to a passing waiter, who in turn whispered into the ear of the bandleader. Suddenly the opening tones of Glenn Miller's _Moonlight Serenade _echoed through the room._

"_Slow enough for you, Miss Roe?" _

_Aw hell._

_Heinrich took her right hand in his left. His right hand dipped down to her left hip – and ever so gently – moved around to the small of her back. _

_JustBreathJustBreathJustBreath_

_Crap. _

_For just an instance, as Heinrich's fingers performed their own gentle dance against her back in time with the music, Rachel's breath caught. Just for an instant._

_He was smiling. Rachel just knew it._

_She couldn't tell for certain though. Because she couldn't – wouldn't – look into his eyes. _

_Don'tLookDon'tLookDon'tLook_

_Double crap._

_Rachel was startled by what she saw. It was something she wasn't used to seeing from a man. She was familiar with most of the expressions men sent her way – most of which were derivations of lust. This was..._

_Don't think._

_-----------_

"_Did you brush your teeth?"_

"_Yes, Rachel."_

"_Let me see."_

_The girl hesitated a moment. "I'll be right back," she said before disappearing into the bathroom. _

_Rachel smiled as she heard the faucet turn on. A moment later she heard the unmistakable scrubbing of toothbrush on teeth._

_She clicked on the nightlight near the bed. Then placed a glass of water on the nightstand. All just the way Sabine liked it. She then curled up on the bed, waiting for the child to return._

_The girl returned moments later and went immediately towards her bookcase._

"_So what shall it be tonight?" Rachel asked._

_Sabine crawled into bed, handing Rachel a book. As the child climbed beneath the blankets, Rachel examined the cover._

"_The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe"._

_A faraway look crossed her features, as well as a soft, fond smile._

"_You're smiling," Sabine pointed out._

"_Am I?"_

"_What are you thinking about?"_

"_I have a friend who loves this book."_

"_Oh?" Sabine curiously questioned. "What's her name?" _

"_Well, she _goes by_ Sarah," Rachel answered, though Sabine didn't quite understand the joke._

"_What's she like?" Sabine pressed. Rachel never talked about herself. The child was immensely curious about this woman she was becoming so fond of._

"_Smart. Pretty. A penchant for finding trouble. Like somebody I know." Rachel punctuated her statement by tickling Sabine's belly. The girl squealed in delight._

"_Stop! Please!" the child begged._

_Unnoticed by the girls, watching from the slightly ajar bedroom door, was Heinrich. He smiled, shook his head in amusement, and gently closed the door._

_----------_

"_I don't like surprises," Rachel warned._

"_You'll like this one," Heinrich promised, smiling that smile of his. The one that always seemed to weaken her knees._

_Rachel distinctly remembered a day when she was a hard assed government agent. She also remembered a day when she rued the fact she was given this assignment._

_Those days had long gone the way of the proverbial dodo. _

_How the hell did he have this effect on her? It wasn't like this man that walked a few paces ahead could be described as sexy. Well, not in a traditional sense anyway. _

_Rachel had traveled the world. Seen some very sexy men. Men with bodies chiseled from granite. With features molded to absolute perfection. With perfectly coiffed hair and designer duds custom made._

_But Heinrich wasn't like that. True, he was relatively fit. But his brown curly locks could never quite be tamed. His nose was a bit too large for his face. And his suits – which were custom cut – always seemed to have a few inexplicable wrinkles, as if he slept in them. _

_So why the hell did she find him sexier than nearly every other man she'd ever met? More so than that MI6 fellow, Barker. Or that Italian Forumla One driver. Or that Spanish soccer player._

_Bad thoughts. These thoughts weren't healthy. It could compromise her ability to protect her asset (had to keep thinking of him that way). Sooner or later thoughts like these could get her reassigned. Or him dead._

_Just breath. Don't become attached. And whatever you do, don't fall in—_

"_We're here," Heinrich said, breaking her from her thoughts._

_They stood before a heavy wooden door in a relatively isolated part of the Schloss. Rachel tried to look stern at Heinrich's self-satisfied expression._

"_You realize if I don't like this surprise..."_

"_Yes, yes, Miss Roe. You'll take your gun and shoot me. Tell me a new one."_

_She distinctly remembered a day when she'd put three bullets into _anybody_ who dared direct that sort of cheeky retort in her direction._

_She didn't miss those days nearly as much as she should._

"_Here you go," he said, handing her a key._

"_What's this?"_

"_A key to this lock. You're the only person with access to this room."_

_Rachel blinked, not quite sure where this was going. "O-kay," she drawled._

_At Heinrich's wave, she slipped the key into the lock and turned. Gently pushing open the door, she cautiously moved into the room. She thought about reaching for her weapon, but thought Heinrich might take offense. Behind her, she heard a soft _click_. An instant later the lights came on—_

"_Oh my God," Rachel breathed._

_It was a studio. Just like the one she dreamed of as a teenager. Just like the one she described in intimate detail to Heinrich as they enjoyed a midnight snack of chocolate cake in the kitchen nearly three weeks before._

_In the corner near the large window overlooking the rear grounds of the schloss, bathed in warm sunlight, was an easel prepared with a fresh blank canvas. There were shelves fully stocked with tubes of oil paints – and not the cheap stuff either – but the prime goods. Brushes of all sizes, any size she could desire. There were enough blank canvases to keep her busy for the next decade._

_And in the corner opposite the waiting canvas, in a darker lit area, was a small cot. The one Rachel said she always imagined she'd need after an all night marathon session._

_She delicately lifted a tube of cadmium blue. She was almost afraid to speak, terrified it would be the catalyst that woke her from this dream. It was Heinrich who finally broke the spell, fearful that her prolonged silence indicated his gesture was a mistake._

"_Rachel? Does this not please you?"_

_Rachel wiped her eyes before turning to face him. No tears, no tears, no tears..._

"_I can't accept this," she lamely stated. "This is... this is something you should give a real girlfriend."_

_In that moment, Rachel knew – Heinrich understood her perfectly. So he played it the only way he could, the only way Rachel could save face._

"_Perhaps. But we must keep up appearances. A man learns his girlfriend is a budding artist. He has the means to create her dream studio. It only makes sense he would provide it upon an important occasion. It is our four month anniversary."_

_Good save. Though Rachel still felt guilty as hell. Seeing her indecision, Heinrich picked a brush from the table and handed it to her._

"_Of course, to keep up appearances, his girlfriend should accept the gift. Otherwise he might think she's planning a break-up. And that certainly wouldn't do."_

_Rachel managed a smile. Damn him and his ironclad logic._

"_Well... maybe one painting."_

_Heinrich instantly perked, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Excellent! I'll leave you to it!" Before Rachel could offer a response, Heinrich turned to leave the room. But just before he left, he turned back and said, "I'll have someone bring you lunch around noon. Will sandwiches suffice?"_

_Sandwiches could be eaten with one hand. Leaving the other hand free to paint. That man was just..._

"_They will," she replied shyly. _

_-----------_

"_C'mon, Sabine, you can do it," Rachel murmured._

_She was on the edge of her seat, eyes glued to the stage before her. So nervous was she that Rachel barely registered the fact her hand instinctively reached for Heinrich's. He, however, was fully aware._

_Who would have thought that Rachel Roe, badass secret agent extraordinaire, would be so invested in a grade school piano recital? Yet she was, hanging on every stroke of the keys. The sounds of Mozart's _Piano Sonata No. 5 in G major_ filled the auditorium. And Sabine was nailing every single note. _

_As Sabine finished, the last note reverberating in the air, Rachel was the first to leap to her feet, offering a thunderous applause. Heinrich was a split second behind, equally enthused by his daughter's performance._

"_She was magnificent!" Rachel shouted into his ear._

"_Of course," Heinrich simply said. "She is _my _daughter."_

_The proud adults shared a fond smile. _

_After the performance, Heinrich and Rachel went backstage to greet the little virtuoso. He wasn't disappointed in the slightest when Sabine ran directly into Rachel's arms._

"_Did you hear me?" the little girl shouted excitedly. "Was I good?"_

_Rachel hugged the child tightly. "Good? You were _amazing_. Wasn't she dad?"_

"_Amazing doesn't begin to cover it," Heinrich replied. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of his two favorite women. The way Rachel embraced his daughter, it evoked some very pleasurable dreams._

_After a few moments, Rachel finally allowed dad to have a hug. Like Heinrich, she couldn't help but smile at the sight. But then a chill ran down her spine and the smile vanished. Very discretely, she turned her head from the wondrous sight of father and daughter and began to scan the room. Something wasn't right..._

_Her spidey sense was tingling. Danger was afoot. Instinctively, Rachel's hand reached for Heinrich's. He knew something was wrong from the intense pressure of her grip._

"_Rachel? Is everything okay?"_

"_Fine, sweetie." The underlying message was: "Later. Not in front of Sabine. It's time to go." Remarkably, Heinrich understood the concealed message. The man never ceased to amaze her._

"_I think I know a brilliant little girl who deserves some ice cream," Heinrich said in his most even voice. Yet even Sabine seemed to know something was amiss. She was a remarkably perceptive child. _

"_That's okay. We can go straight home."_

_Remarkably perceptive._

_Rachel clutched her purse tightly, feeling a bit secure knowing she had a Walther PPK in easy reach. On this day, however, she wouldn't have to use it._

_--------_

_In a singular moment it became painfully obvious she was too close. She never felt him enter the room. Never felt his eyes upon her. As though her subconscious knew he was the one person in the universe she could drop her guard around. Not a good trait when he was the person she was tasked to protect._

"_A beautiful sight," Heinrich's voice stated behind her. Thankfully he waited to speak until she pulled the brush away from canvas. Otherwise she might have ruined a perfectly good landscape portrait. _

"_Yeah," she agreed. "Turns out it's just like riding a bike. Everything I've ever learned about painting has just come back to me."_

"_Oh. The painting. It's quite lovely, too."_

_Rachel shot him an exasperated look. She truly thought him to be joking. After all, she was wearing a pair of ratty old jeans and flannel shirt, both of which were stained in various paints. There were even a few blotches on her cheeks and in her hair._

_Then she saw it. The Look. He was completely sincere. She turned away, a futile attempt to hide the flush to her cheeks._

"_We can't."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it's a bad idea. For so many reasons."_

"_I want to kiss you."_

_Rachel had no response for his words. But when his arms encircled her waist from behind, her body's response was to tip her head back into his shoulder, exposing her neck for his lips. _

"_Stop," she pleaded. But there was something in her eyes..._

"_Say it like you mean it," Heinrich demanded._

_Rachel tried to form the words, but the only ones that came out were—_

"_Oh, I am so screwed."_

_----------_

_Rachel had been awake for an hour, since the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds. _

_He looked so beautiful, she decided, lying atop the white cotton sheets, basked in the glow of the morning sun. She hated to disturb him. He looked so at peace. Safe from the real world were bad men wished to do him harm._

_But she couldn't help it. Of its own accord, her hand reached out and brushed a strand of his curly locks away from his face. Then slowly, his dark brown eyes opened, registering the fact the woman he was completely crazy about still occupied his bed. He smiled._

_Rachel's breath caught. Much as she liked watching him sleep, she could never get over the expression on his face when he first woke to see her lying next to him. It was like watching the sunrise all over again._

"_Hello," he said._

"_Hello."_

"_I like waking up next to you," he admitted._

"_Can't say I blame you. I'm hot."_

"_I love you."_

_Her smile instantly disappeared. "Why'd you have to say that?"_

"_Because I won't let the opportunity slip away." He could feel her slipping away from him, literally and figuratively. He wrapped his arm around her waist. "Do you know how long I had with Anna? Four years. Just four years. And you know what else? The day she died, before she climbed into that car, I forgot to say those words."_

"_Heinrich..."_

"_It's okay if you can't say it. At least for now. But I just wanted you to know. Because any moment together could be our last. So from now on, whenever we part ways, I'm going to say it. Though I may be more discreet when in the presence of other agents."_

"_Heinrich," she tried again. But his fingers pressed gently against her lips, silencing her._

"_I love you," he repeated. _

_She needed to dissuade him. To ruin any romantic notions he had of her. For both their sakes._

"_I kill people for a living," she said. "I'm exceptionally good at it. Is that the sort of person you want hanging around your daughter?"_

"_That's your job," Heinrich dismissed. "It's not _you_. _You _read bedtime stories to my daughter. _You _attend her piano recitals. _You _help with her homework and play with her in the garden."_

_Rachel turned her eyes away. "I'm a killer," she again proclaimed._

"_Fine. You're a killer. But you're not a monster. _That's _a person I would never let around my daughter." He cupped her cheek delicately, forcing her eyes upon him. "All I know is the woman I've seen, the woman who's protected my daughter and myself. That woman is more than deserving of love. Maybe some day she'll figure it out."_

_---------_

_It was nearly eleven pm when Heinrich and Rachel arrived at his study. He wore a sharp black tuxedo, she wore a shimmering green backless gown. They had just put Sabine to bed. He was surprised by this slight detour, thinking they would return to the ballroom. After all, being his birthday, he still had guests to entertain._

"_So, what brings us here?" he questioned curiously._

"_I have a present for you. I wanted to give it to you in private."_

"_Ah! I was wondering why my girlfriend hadn't supplied a gift. I think our guests were wondering too." A shiver of desire rippled through her body as Heinrich's fingertips brushed against the exposed skin near the base of her spine. Her knees nearly gave out as he whispered into her ear, his warm breath tickling her lobe: "That's hardly keeping up appearances, my love." _

_Going against every desire in her body, she broke from the contact, moving towards an easel, the canvas covered by a white sheet._

"_Remember three weeks ago? That day the three of us spent in the garden? When I carried that camera around all day?"_

"_I do. Is this your way of telling me you'd like a dark room, too?"_

"_No. Photography isn't my medium. I just needed a photo as reference so I could make your gift."_

_She removed the sheet, exposing the finished canvas. Heinrich's breath caught. "Rachel..." he breathed._

"_Do you like?" she asked hopefully._

"_My God. It's perfect."_

_There, etched in oil, was Heinrich and Sabine. It was a bright, sunny day in the garden. Father and daughter played in the grass. On the child's face was an expression of pure delight. Heinrich remembered the moment. Gazing down at his daughter cradled in his arms, in the aftermath of a tickle attack. And the look on his face – complete love and adoration. _

_He wiped away the wetness that spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks._

"_Rachel..." he breathed again._

"_Did I do good?" Rachel asked._

_Heinrich answered by cupping her face in his hands and kissing her passionately. "I love you," he declared. _

_In that moment, she might have answered him back. But Rachel felt his lips press once more against hers and rational thought, for the most part, abandoned her._

"_What about your guests?" she managed between kisses. _

"_They'll show themselves out," he responded. "Right now, I need you."_

_Rational thought, for the complete part, abandoned her._

_-----------_

"_Checkmate," the little girl teased._

_From her position on the floor, laying flat on her belly, Rachel stared at the board. Her eyes roved over her remaining pieces. How the hell is that...? Oh. Where'd that other rook come from?_

"_I think I've been hoodwinked," Rachel announced._

"_Wanna play again?"_

_Sabine lay on the floor opposite Rachel, in an exact replica of the posture the agent used. Although Rachel was fairly sure she wasn't swinging her legs about like the eight year old. Oh, wow, she was. _

"_Fine. But if you beat me one more time..." Rachel warned._

_From his armchair, as he read the newspaper, Heinrich gently chided his daughter. "Sabine, let Rachel win. You know how cranky she can get when she loses."_

"_I do _not _get cranky when I lose," she defended. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. "You're messing with me. Watch it, buddy. I know how to deal with you."_

"_You mean you won't have sex with him," Sabine stated. The eyes of both adults bulged from their sockets. _

"_Sabine!" Heinrich admonished. _

"_What?" the child defended. "I'm nearly nine years old now. I know things."_

_Rachel covered her mouth. It wouldn't do to laugh. Just as Heinrich was about to continue his admonishment, the lights in the study went out. _

"_What the--?" Heinrich questioned._

_Rachel stood and went to the window. "It's all the lights." A sinking feeling developed in the pit of her stomach. She _really _hated this feeling. _

_She lifted the small walkie-talkie she carried at all times to her lips. "This is Roe. Report."_

"_Mueller here. Electricity's out all over the estate. We've lost surveillance."_

"_Why aren't the backup generators running?"_

"_No idea, ma'am."_

"_Call the substation. Get reinforcements here. Then get off your ass and find out why the damn generators aren't working."_

_She turned to Heinrich. "Okay, this is a secure room. I want you and Sabine to stay here."_

"_Rachel..." he began. She cut him off, already knowing the words he was about to speak._

"_Heinrich, please," she implored. "I need to be an agent right now. So I'm asking you properly, just do as I say. Because I can't... I can't _feel _right now, okay?"_

_Her eyes implored him to understand. Heinrich nodded slightly, reaching out to his daughter and scooping her into his arms._

"_Secure the door behind me," she instructed._

_In the hallway, she waiting until hearing the large _click_ indicating the study was locked down. Drawing her Beretta and flashlight, she cautiously moved down the hall, her predatory instincts kicking in._

_She entered the dining room - the one for everyday usage – and traveled its length. At the far end of the room was a door – a kitchen entrance. Rachel stared at the door for several moments, then— BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

_She put three rounds through the wood. On the opposite side came a dull thump. A body hitting the floor. She pushed through the door, struggling against the corpse—_

_Her instincts were correct. The man wasn't one of hers, nor was she a member of Heinrich's staff. Plus, the all-black gear and semi-automatic machine gun were dead giveaways._

_She pressed through the kitchen. One hundred twenty feet straight ahead, thirty-eight to the right. That's where the door to the formal dining room would be. Good thing she knew the dimensions of this estate by heart. The only light flowing into the kitchen was a bit of moonlight reflecting off the metal surfaces._

_Exactly forty-nine feet into her journey, Rachel hit the deck in a hail of machine gun fire. The shots echoed in the cavernous room, but Rachel surmised there was only gunman. _

_She also knew the instant the gunman ran dry. Calculating the approximate location of the shooter, Rachel unloaded the remaining rounds in her clip. A sick satisfaction coursed through her body when she heard at least one round impact flesh. _

_Very coolly, she ejected the spent magazine and slammed home another. She leapt over the counter, moving in the direction of the shooter. Nearly forty feet away, she found a small pool of blood on the floor. But no body._

"_Crap," she murmured._

_At the last instant, Rachel saw the shooter attack from her right. A heavy body slammed into her, tackling her to the floor. Her pistol skidded away on the tile._

_Rachel responded by driving a knee into Shooter's groin. The man cried in pain as Rachel heaved him aside. _

_She flipped to her feet, intent on tracking down her gun. Shooter was up quickly, too. The man grabbed her roughly from behind, wrapping Rachel in a bear hug. She struggled in his arms, her feet finding the edge of a countertop. She pushed off hard, driving the base of Shooter's spine into another countertop behind them. _

_Shooter lost his grip, allowing Rachel to grab a paring knife from a nearby cutlery set. Shooter grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around—_

_Rachel jammed the knife into Shooter's left inner thigh, slicing through the femoral artery. Her other hand wrapped around Shooter's neck, holding him in place as he struggled. In a few moments the fight was over, Shooter having bled out. Rachel took the earwig from Shooter's ear and slipped it into her own. She then dropped the body unceremoniously, it thudding dully in its own blood._

_Now tapped into their communications, Rachel retrieved her weapon and double-checked the clip. _

_She went through the formal dining room, into a reception area. Essentially a large parlor, this was the room where Heinrich received guests on his birthday just a few weeks earlier..._

_Stop it. Can't feel. Can't think. Just do your job._

_In her earwig, Rachel could hear their communications. This area of the estate was about to become occupied by hostiles. At least three. But not all at once._

_One in the formal dining room. Another sweeping through rooms in the east grand hall. A third lingering in the stairwell. _

_Her best chance was to take them out silently, one at a time. Engage them all at once and she would be a goner. And so would Heinrich._

_Stop it! Can't feel. Can't think. Just do your job._

_She grabbed a lamp off a nearby end table. She yanked out the electric cord, looped each end around her hands, forming a garrote. _

_Silence. To her own ears, her breath sounded like ragged gasps, her heartbeat like a drumbeat. Irrationally, she feared those sounds could echo throughout the darkened, silent hall of the estate. _

_Stop it! Just. Focus. Do. Your. Job._

_Footsteps. Ever so quietly sounding from the direction of the entrance to the formal dining room. Rachel held her breath. The sounds of footsteps drew closer. Closer. Closer..._

_The electric cord was around the man's neck before he could blink. He barely struggled as the plastic cut into his throat. Very delicately, Rachel lowered the body to the floor. _

_She searched the body. Tucked into a holster on his left hip was an eight-inch hunting blade. That'll do._

_She crept along silently, moving into the east hall. She hid behind the ornate wooden base of the stairwell banister, waiting for the man to come down._

_He never saw her strike. The first blade stroke punctured through his back, between his ribs, piercing his lung, preventing any screams. The second blade stroke punctured his liver. _

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

_Not fast enough. The third man in the area arrived on scene. He unleashed a burst of semi-automatic gunfire. One round slammed into the body of his recently alive comrade and then through, finding its way into her gut. _

_Rachel cried out, hitting the floor. No use for silence now. She drew her Beretta and emptied the clip in the shooter's direction. _

_Shooter dove for cover. Using the moment, Rachel summoned up a burst of adrenaline to get to her feet. Another hail of gunfire erupted just as she slammed through the doors leading back into the formal dining room._

_Shooter entered, eyes sweeping the room. Almost immediately a heavy wooden chair swung down, slamming into his arms, his semi-automatic dropping to the floor. _

_But she was too slow to resume a defensive position. Shooter's fist slammed into her gut, right where the bullet entered. Coughing up blood, Rachel was mostly helpless as Shooter wrapped his hands around her neck and slammed her atop the heavy dining table. _

_As large hands tightened around her neck, Rachel was remarkably at peace. _

_She was never going to say those words he desperately wanted to hear. But he would be okay. They both would. Nothing short of plastic explosive could breech the safe room, and probably not even that. Reinforcements would come. They would be okay..._

_Just before she could black out, the pressure around her neck was released. Struggling to a sitting position, she tried to find the reason why the large man was no longer atop her. Her eyes widened at the one sight she didn't want to see._

"_No... Heinrich..."_

_He stood there, the shattered remnants of a chair in hand. Shooter was on the floor, in pain, but recovering quickly._

"_Run..." she gasped. "Heinrich, run..."_

_He saved her. Goddammit, no... He'd been safe!_

"_Run," she choked, blood seeping from her lips. _

_Not long. Fairly serious wound. Gonna bleed out. Gotta get him. Gotta get him to safety. Only thing that matters. Heinrich and Sabine. Sabine. Gotta save her daddy._

_Somehow a Glock appeared in Shooter's hand. The men struggled over the weapon._

_BOOM!_

_A single shot. _

_Silence._

_Heinrich. His eyes instantly glazing over. _

_A scream. Tortured. _

_Rachel's scream._

_Heinrich fell to his knees. Instinctively, his eyes found hers. _

_I love you._

_He slumped to the floor. _

_A scream. Inhuman rage._

_Rachel's scream._

_Somehow the hunting blade was again in her hands. _

_Shooter screamed as the blade pierced the base of his spine. His knees instantly gave out, his spinal cord severed. _

_Blade strokes. Again and again and again and again._

_Rachel barely registered his death gasps. The blade continued to penetrate his body, long after his lifeblood spilled out onto the floor. _

_A scream. Infinite anguish. Tears spilling._

_Rachel's anguish._

_Suddenly, whatever force had willed her to strike back completely vanished. She fell to the floor, drained. Dying. _

"_Heinrich..."_

_Vacant eyes stared back._

_She crawled to him. Shaking hands pressed against the wound in his stomach. _

"_Hold on, baby," she pleaded. "Please hold on."_

_So much blood. _

"_Don't leave me."_

_----------_

_Breath. _

_Just breathe._

_Don't scream. _

_Keep it together._

_Can't lose it now._

_He needs you. They both do._

_Just hold on._

_Hold on._

_Please, God, don't go._

_So much blood. _

_What do I do?_

_I need you._

_What do I do?!_

_Don't leave me._

_I can't breath._

_I love you._

_Just breath, just breath, just breath... _

_Heinrich..._

_Oh god. I can't breath._

_-----------_

Her eyes slowly opened. She was greeted by the sight of her own image. Leopard print sheets pulled up over her breasts, a white gauze bandage covering the area just below her left shoulder.

Mirror on the ceiling?

A flood of images struck. Bad hotel room. The bar. Joey. A fire. Searing pain. The money. Alexander Harris.

Chuck.

He saved her.

Her eyes found him. He was resting in a chair on the left side of the bed, looking like shit warmed over.

He was scared for her.

Rachel's heart fluttered.

She offered a wisp of a smile. "Chuck... you saved me."

Chuck shifted nervously in his seat. "Well..."

CLICK.

The sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol. A Colt 1911, if Rachel wasn't mistaken.

"Hey Rach," Sarah offered. She sat backwards in a chair on the right side of the bed. She gave a smile, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes.

"Chuck...?" Rachel whimpered.

For his part, Chuck looked sick to his stomach. "Yeah. Maybe you should hold off on thanking me."

END PART


	14. Revelations Over AmeriCone Dream

Okay, boys and girls. Word of warning, don't expect a tearful reunion for Chuck and Sarah. But never fear, my little platypuses, like everyone else in this fandom, I do pull Charah. So have a little faith and bear with.

As you may have noticed, I'm getting into a groove where a new part shows up every weekend. So this one's actually arrived a couple days early. So maybe the regular schedule is moved up, or maybe I'll keep to weekends. Dunno yet. We'll see how easily Chapter 15 flows.

Oh, and thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews for Chapter 13. You guys really came through and made me feel like it was something special. I can't say how much I appreciate that.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REVELATIONS OVER AMERICONE DREAM

"Chuck?"

Her voice quivered as she called his name. How dare she? How dare she act like _she _was the one who was betrayed.

"Rachel, I'm sorry."

And did he just _apologize _to her?

"You were hurt. I-I didn't know what to do. I had to call for help."

If she weren't handcuffed to the bed, Rachel would have stormed away, so palpable was her anger. As it were, she settled for turning her head away.

"Don't talk to me," she spat.

"Chuck..." she tried.

But he wouldn't have it. Holding up a hand to silence her, he warned, "Sarah, don't." Pushing right by, he walked out the front door into the courtyard.

Okay, seriously. _What the hell_?!

-------------

_Eight Hours Earlier_

"Chuck?"

"Double crap."

Sarah took in the sight before her. Chuck, looking remarkably well, cradling Rachel in his arms like she was precious. A sea of emotions washed over her. Not the least of which was confusion. And maybe… jealousy?

"Chuck? What's going on?"

Eighteen months working with the man, Sarah could practically hear the gears turning in his mind. He was desperately trying to figure out what to say. He was trying to come up with a lie.

Why did he need to lie to her?

"She needs help," he whimpered. Looking past her, his eyes found Ellie. "Please, help her."

Sparing a glance back at the Bartowski sister, Sarah could see the same confusion reflected in her eyes. But then, whatever thoughts or feelings the other woman might be experiencing, it was all pushed to the side. Doctor Bartowski took command.

"Put her on the bed."

Chuck obeyed, delicately laying the wounded agent on the bed. He then stood back and let his sister work. Ellie pulled away the leopard print sheet – Hey! Why is she nearly naked? – and went to work.

It was actually a fairly quick procedure. In all, less than an hour passed before Ellie declared the patient stable. She first examined the wound, and after determining the bullet to still be lodged inside Rachel's shoulder, produced a pair of forceps. She extracted the bullet, a .38, and dropped it into the trash can.

She then threaded a needle and stitched up the wound. After that, she applied a gauze bandage and taped it over the wound. Finally, she withdrew a syringe and vial of antibiotics. After measuring an appropriate dose, she injected the agent.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Chuck asked.

"I assume so," Ellie answered. "Judging from the location, no vital organs were punctured. Blood loss may be an issue. I think an infection is trying to kick in. Hopefully the antibiotics will stem it off." She took a deep, calming breath before spouting: "So why did I just play nursemaid to psychobitch?"

"It's… it's…"

"I swear to God, if the next word out of your mouth is 'complicated'..."

"...difficult to explain..." Chuck finished meekly.

Ellie simply stared at her brother for several long moments. She then stripped away her bloody latex gloves and tossed them into the trash. Before Chuck knew what hit him, Ellie wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, El. I swear."

"Chuck... What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know," Chuck said. "Not everything, anyway. But we need to give Rachel a chance to explain." He finally turned to look at Sarah. "We can't hand her over to the CIA."

"Are you insane?!" Ellie cried. "This woman kidnapped you!"

Chuck shrugged. "To be fair, that was a misunderstanding. I think. If I'm right, anyway."

"Right about what, Chuck?" Sarah asked. She couldn't wrap her mind around how he could defend Rachel, and she'd been friends with the other agent for years.

"About why we're here."

------------------

She was a badass secret agent. Had taken on foes and been in situations that would turn most people's hair white. She was someone who could face any situation with a grace and cool, no matter how rough it was.

So that's why she absolutely _wouldn't _pout.

Well, she wouldn't pout so that Chuck could see it. Of course, she thought as she spared a glance at the man in the passenger seat, he wasn't paying much attention to her anyway.

And he sure as hell wasn't buying her ice cream either.

Damn it to hell, she was pouting. This whole damn thing was so far from the joyful reunion she had imagined.

Sarah parked the Challenger in the hotel parking lot. She followed Chuck back inside the room – doing her best not to pout – and watched as he immediately relieved Ellie of nursemaid duties. Rather, soon as Chuck entered, Ellie got the hell away from her brother's abductor.

"I, uh, got you some ice cream," Chuck stammered. "I hear it's what wounded soldiers get in the hospital."

"Don't want any," Rachel snapped back. Though she kept her eyes on the plastic grocery sack he carried, obviously intrigued by what he brought.

"It's Ben and Jerry's," he explained. He sat in the chair next to the bed and began pulling out pint cartons. "I didn't know what kind you like, so I got a bunch. I got... Stephen Colbert's AmeriCone Dream, S'mores, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Cherry Garcia, and Phish Food."

"You can't bribe me," Rachel proclaimed. Then, almost shyly, "Can I have the AmeriCone Dream? It actually is my favorite."

As Chuck gave her the pint of AmeriCone Dream and plastic spoon, Ellie shot a look to Sarah, incredulously asking _"Did he really buy her ice cream?"_

Sarah's reply: "_Yup."_

"Don't think for a moment this changes anything. I'm still mad at you."

Chuck suddenly looked greatly irritated. "You're mad at _me_?! You should be thankful to have a kidnappee willing to buy his kidnapper ice cream. Or are we forgetting that you threatened to kill me?"

"Yeah, about that..."

Everyone in the room cocked their head at the strange lilt in her voice. It was even enough to keep Ellie from killing her on the spot when Chuck made his "kill me" revelation.

"What about that?" Chuck questioned.

"First off, let me explain, it was necessary to have your compliance. Second, I may have, you know, kinda fibbed a bit."

Chuck blinked. "How's that?"

"Honestly, I'm a little surprised you bought it, smart guy as you are. But I suppose the fact I'm a highly skilled and dangerous assassin helped matters..."

Now Sarah blinked. Was Rachel... babbling? She only ever did that when... Oh Crap.

"NJ-27, Chuck? Nanites that make you go boom? I kinda, sorta, you know, made that up."

It took about six seconds for understanding to sink into his brain. "You made it up?" he exploded. "What about the thing? The detonator thing you kept waving around?"

"Oh, that's actually a detonator. Just for plastic explosives. Never know when a spot of C-4 will come in handy. Believe me, I'm really, _really_ sorry for that whole bit. But like I said, at the time it was necessary. I was desperate, and while I know that doesn't actually excuse what I did..."

"You're damn straight!" both Bartowski's simultaneously yelled.

When she genuinely liked a guy, Sarah finished her earlier thought. That's the only time she ever babbled.

"And, you know, I'm _incredibly _sorry for that other thing, too," Rachel continued. This time with a subtle nod at Ellie.

Yeah, Chuck thought, better leave out the whole "threatening to kill my family" part. Ellie's stressed enough as is.

"So... friends?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

"It was all just an act?" Chuck asked sternly. "You never intended to make good?"

"Of course not!" was Rachel's vehement denial. "I may be a killer, Chuck, but I'm not a monster."

"That's debatable," Ellie retorted.

Rachel turned to the elder Bartowski. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You must have been insane with worry. Like I said, I was desperate. That doesn't excuse it... but I truly am sorry. And I swear to you, I would protect your brother to my dying breath." Rachel cast a shy glance at the younger Bartowski. "He's a very special man."

Four words passed through Sarah's mind.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Something about Rachel's tone struck with Ellie. Things weren't forgiven, not even close. But the Elder Bartowksi nodded slightly. She wouldn't kill the peroxide blonde agent. Not yet anyway.

Sarah couldn't help the hurt sigh that escaped her lips. _Freakin' figures. She even likes Rachel more than me now._

"Who's Sabine?" Chuck question cut through the air. Rachel sucked in a breath, wounded by the name.

"How did you...?"

"I snooped through your phone."

Rachel nodded, easily accepting this answer.

Sarah frowned. Why did she know that name?

"Once upon a time," Rachel began, "I knew another very special man. And he had a very special little girl."

Three more words to add to the list: Oh. Bloody. Hell. _That's _how she knew that name.

"I was tasked to protect him," Rachel continued. "And, uh, I got too close. I lost my objectivity. In short, I got compromised."

"Compromised?" Ellie questioned.

"I fell in love." She noted the nearly identical eyebrow raise of the Bartowski siblings. "Is it so hard to believe?" Her next comment was directed at Chuck. Or maybe Sarah simply imagined it was. "It does happen. Agents do fall in love."

Rachel took a bracing breath. "He was the chief computer specialist for a very large German bank. One day he discovered irregularities. Money was being diverted to fund some very bad people. They threatened him, I was brought in for protection.

"One night, said group attacked the schloss. Their goal was to kidnap his daughter and use her as leverage to gain his cooperation. It failed. I failed. He died."

"And Sabine?"

"I learned a month ago of another kidnapping attempt. This time it succeeded."

"With her father dead, who are they leveraging her against?" Ellie questioned.

"Me," Rachel simply answered.

Son of a bitch. Yeah, she'd said it before, but it bore repeating.

"How does my brother figure into this?" Ellie asked.

"You're brother is very special," Rachel repeated. "He possesses a very unique skill set that I needed."

"I don't understand..."

"I'm The Intersect," Chuck informed his sister.

Immediately, Sarah snapped, "Chuck!"

Chuck completely ignored her. "Eighteen months ago I was accidentally downloaded with a government supercomputer. Every secret of the US intelligence community is locked away somewhere up here," he said, tapping his temple.

"Government supercomputer? Downloaded?"

Ellie collapsed in a nearby chair.

"You okay?" Chuck asked.

Ellie nodded overenthusiastically. "Sure!" A moment later, she took a ragged breath and shook her head. "No."

"Do you need a moment?"

Ellie nodded again, taking a cleansing breath. It didn't work. She buried her head between her knees to keep from hyperventilating. She waved a hand and gasped, "Go on without me."

So they did.

"I'm with Ellie though," Chuck said. "How do I figure into this? I know I flashed on that guy..."

"Flashed?" Ellie managed.

"A data burst, triggered by visual or auditory stimuli," Chuck explained quickly, still focused on Rachel. "Alexander Harris. And why did you need Joseph Murphy to find him?"

"Alexander Harris. I'm surprised you don't know the name."

"I do know the name," Chuck said. "Would even without the Intersect. He was one of the founders of ArtemisCorp."

"ArtemisCorp?" Ellie asked.

"An old software company. Were real big in the early to mid 90s before they cashed out by selling everything they owned to Microsoft. Used to be a major government contractor. Harris was the real genius of the group. Also said to be an eccentric."

"To put it mildly," Rachel ruefully laughed. "After his early retirement, he made a deal with the government. He'd continue to work on various projects for them, but in exchange he wanted a blank slate. Every bit of information on the guy was removed from the system. Ever since he's essentially been living off the grid. Which allows him a personal freedom he wouldn't otherwise experience in this digital age. Allows him to pursue his interests, some of which aren't exactly kosher."

"Which would explain why I possess no specific information on him," Chuck surmised. "The only stuff in my head about Harris could be found searching newspaper articles online. Still doesn't explain Joey Murphy."

"One of Harris' interests is gambling. He's a full blown raging addict. Not only poker and blackjack, but any sport you can imagine. College hoops, football, boxing. So if there's one person a guy like Alexander Harris will in touch with, it's his bookie."

"That doesn't explain what these bad guys hope to leverage," Sarah said. Both Bartowski's startled, almost forgetting she was in the room.

"Don't know. Thought it best not to ask," Rachel answered. "They just said it would be located on Harris' personal laptop."

"And these bad guys?" Chuck asked.

"They call themselves _Aube Nouvelle_. New Dawn. They're a Neo-Nazi terrorist group. They've been connected to numerous bombings of Jewish businesses, homes, and synagogues in the past five years."

"Ugh," Chuck grunted. "I hate Nazis."

"You and me both," Rachel answered.

After a few moments, Chuck softly asked, "Why didn't you come to us earlier?"

Rachel shook her head. "Chuck, the US government doesn't care about my problem. Hell, the only reason I was given the assignment was because a) I was in the doghouse and the CIA wanted rid of me, and b) Deputy Director Coolbaugh owed the German Directors of the Bundesamt fürVerfassungsschutz and Bundeskriminalamt favors. The US has no interest in the situation, official or otherwise."

"No," Chuck said strongly. "Why didn't you come to _us_? Sarah and Casey, they're your friends. Surely they'd help you. And if they said no, you should have come to me. I'd have nagged them until they changed their minds. So why didn't you come to us?"

Rachel fought to keep tears from spilling. "Because it's not Sarah and Casey's mission. Not their responsibility. As for you... how was I to know you'd be such a great guy?"

Chuck shook his head. Flattery would get her nowhere. "You should have come to us. We would have helped."

"Really?" Rachel turned to Sarah. "I think that look says otherwise."

The Bartowskis then turned to face her. Sarah shifted anxiously, put off by the sudden attention. "She's right," she choked out. "It isn't our mission. Not our responsibility."

"Not your responsibility?!" Chuck exclaimed, not believing Sarah would say such a thing. "It's a kidnapped little girl and we're the good guys!"

"Chuck, I have but one priority. You."

"Sarah..."

"Chuck, no." _Gotta head him off before he gives me the puppy eyes. _

Sarah knew what reaction to expect. He'd give her The Look, plead his case, and ply at her conscience.

So she was completely floored by the reaction that occurred. Fury burned behind his eyes. He approached her quickly, wrapping his hand around her bicep in a vice-like grip, and hauled her towards the door. They were in the middle of the courtyard, Chuck glaring at her, before Sarah managed to recover.

"Chuck!"

"Don't _Chuck_ me," he warned. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"The Sarah Walker I know would never just sit idly by as bad guys kidnap a little girl."

"Look, Chuck, I know it sounds cruel. And I feel for Rachel and the girl. But _you _and your safety are my only concern. Now that I have you safe and sound, my priority now is to clean up this mess and maybe convince Beckman..."

"Bullshit," Chuck interrupted. "What is this, some sort of jealousy? Or maybe resentment?"

Sarah was taken aback. "What?"

"Rachel went off the reservation, went against protocol. She actually let herself be human for a little while and fell in love. So I figure you're either jealous that's she _capable_ of love or resentful she broke CIA rules."

Sarah stared coldly. "Go to hell, Chuck," she spat. "Pack your bags. We're leaving for LA."

"Like hell we are," Chuck retorted.

"Chuck, do not argue with me, because you will lose. Now I don't _want _to go all John Casey and toss you in the trunk, but at this point, I will."

"I ask again, where's the Sarah Walker I know?"

"What the hell do you want me to do, Chuck?!" she exploded. "Do you have any idea what's gone on the past week? Beckman put a termination order out on both of you! Now if I take you both back now so Beckman can hear her story, maybe, _just maybe_, she won't toss you in a bunker and ship Rachel off to Leavenworth for execution."

Chuck calmly stared back. "How does any of that help Sabine? How can you just stand there like some _robot_ when your friend and a little girl need your help?"

"You know what, Chuck?! It's her own damn fault! If she'd just followed the rules for once she wouldn't be in this mess! But she went and did something stupid and now she's paying the price! She got too close and it got someone killed! If she'd just kept her objectivity then maybe there wouldn't be another child in this world without a daddy!"

"News flash, Sarah!" Chuck yelled back. "But sometimes _actual _people have _actual _emotions. Most people aren't like you. They can't flip them on and off like a light switch. If you even have an 'on' position."

"Yeah, and look what emotions got her! Look what love brought her! Pain and death. That's all!"

Chuck stared back at her calmly. "There are worse things than dying. If you'd ever been in love, you'd know that."

_Goddammit! _Sarah mentally screamed. _Why can't he understand? I can't... we can't... _

"Sarah," he said calmly, "we can't just turn our backs on Rachel and this girl. It isn't right and _you_ _know it_. At least the Sarah Walker _I know _knows it."

Sarah stared off into the distance, her mind working over the situation. She knew what she _should _do, but her heart...

Son of a bitch. Sometimes she really missed the old days. Back in the days before she met a damn computer nerd who evoked all these... _feelings_... in her.

"Okay..." slipped from her lips before she even realized it. Chuck turned his best lopsided smile on her.

"There's the Sarah Walker I know. Maybe there's hope after all."

Despite the warm fuzzy feeling his smile evoked in her gut – and the unspoken thought his phrase alluded to - she couldn't quite shake the sinking feeling Fuzzy was rooming with. The feeling that was telling her there was no way this could possibly end well.

END PART

Dudes, just so you know, Chapter 15 oughta be freakin' sweet. Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, and Rachel on a cross-country road trip to Miami. Tempers flare. _*cough*SarahAndRachelSmackdown*cough*_ It's gonna be so _Awesome_.


	15. The Preacher's Daughter

_Okay, boys and girls. I'm so sorry for the long layoff. Like I've mentioned, life the past two months has been tough. Only recently have I had the time and energy to resume writing. _

_I want to thank everyone who inquired about the status of this fic. And I'd doubly like to thank all those who've reviewed it. Please, be kind, and keep up the wonderful reviews._

_At long last, the promised Sarah/Rachel smackdown. Most of you know I tend to write Sarah differently than the one portrayed in other fics and even the TV show. I write her darker and more tortured. Be warned, that's the Sarah you'll see here._

_As always, any errors in grammar, format, or continuity are strictly the fault of BillAtWork... (Kidding. Mostly.) _

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE PREACHER'S DAUGHTER

"Where are they?" Casey demanded as he burst into the apartment.

Devon was still a little bleary eyed, having only woken ten minutes before. But ten minutes was long enough to figure out his fiancée wasn't home.

"I don't know," Devon said.

"Don't lie to me, frat boy," was Casey's sharp response.

"I don't know," Devon repeated strongly. "I went to bed and she was here. I woke up and she wasn't."

Casey held up a single finger of warning. _If I find out you're lying..._

He almost immediately found two cell phones on the kitchen counter. Quick examination revealed them to belong to Sarah and Ellie.

He proceeded to turn the apartment inside out, starting with the living room. Devon simply followed behind, unsure whether he should be helping to find some clue that would disclose Ellie's location, or doing everything he could to stop the irate NSA agent.

Both he and Casey felt a little stupid for missing the obvious note on the bedroom nightstand on the first pass. Casey read the note and grunted.

"Son of a bitch. She's finally gone off the reservation."

He slapped the note roughly into Devon's chest as he walked past. "Pack your bags. We're hitting the road."

Devon scanned the note: _Babe – We've gone to Vegas to find Chuck. I love you, E. _

-----------

"_Well, I'm running down the road  
tryin' to loosen my load  
I've got seven women on  
my mind,  
Four that wanna own me,  
Two that wanna stone me,  
One says she's a friend of mine"_

It was tasked to Sarah to "requisition" a new vehicle for the trip. She chose a 1996 Red Jeep Grand Cherokee. When she arrived back at the motel, Ellie was ready with the supplies she'd bought from the Wal-Mart down the street.

As the two women packed in tense silence, sparing awkward glances at each other, Chuck helped Rachel to the car.

"Know the worst part of suffering a shoulder wound?" Rachel asked him. "I can't wear anything strapless for awhile. Which royally sucks, because I have fantastic shoulders."

Chuck tried to hide his blush, but Rachel caught it.

"Ha! I knew it! You did notice when you were taking care of me!"

"Kinda hard not to," Chuck defended. "But it was purely professional."

"I bet it was hard," she teased.

Sarah quietly fumed at their flirtations, though her anger didn't go unnoticed by the elder Bartowski. Sarah slammed the rear hatch harder than necessary.

"Load up," she snapped. "We're leaving in five."

"_Take it easy, take it easy  
Don't let the sound of your own wheels  
drive you crazy_

_Lighten up while you still can  
don't even try to understand  
Just find a place to make your stand  
and take it easy__"_

They broke the drive into two-hour shifts. They stopped only to refuel, take a leak, and stop at drive-thrus.

Two people up front, two in the middle seat. Just about every combination invoked some sort of awkwardness or tension. Ellie struggled dealing with either agent for the obvious myriad of reasons. Rachel struggled with Ellie for those very reasons. Rachel and Sarah seemed to be having some sort of pissing match with Chuck as the prize. There was still a palpable tension between Sarah and Chuck, the former wondering what the hell she was doing on this trip, the latter wondering if the former would change her mind at any moment.

"_Well, I'm a standing on a corner  
in Winslow, Arizona  
and such a fine sight to see  
It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed  
Ford slowin' down to take a look at me _

_Come on, baby, don't say maybe  
I gotta know if your sweet love is  
gonna save me"_

The only combinations that seemed to be tension free were Chuck/Ellie and Chuck/Rachel. The latter pair currently occupied the front seats, Rachel driving. Both she and Chuck were content to belt out Eagles lyrics.

"_We may lose and we may win though  
we will never be here again  
so open up, I'm climbin' in,  
so take it easy"_

Sarah continued to fume. He seemed more comfortable with the woman who kidnapped him that he was with her, the woman who's saved his ass more times than she could count.

Ellie watched curiously. She didn't know what to be more disturbed by, how easily her brother interacted with his kidnapper, or how lovelorn Sarah actually seemed to be.

"_Well I'm running down the road trying to loosen  
my load, got a world of trouble on my mind  
lookin' for a lover who won't blow my  
cover, she's so hard to find  
Take it easy, take it easy  
don't let the sound of your own  
wheels make you crazy  
come on baby, don't say maybe  
I gotta know if your sweet love is  
gonna save me, oh oh oh  
Oh we got it easy  
We oughta take it easy"_

That's how things were through Texas. Awkward, quiet, but relatively civil.

Then they crossed the border into Mississippi.

-----------

It was about one in the afternoon. Rachel was driving. In one hand she held a Junior Whopper and was periodically taking bites. The fingers of the other hand drummed along the steering wheel, beating out the rhythm to ZZ Top's _My Head's in Mississippi _along with the radio.

Next to her sat Sarah. Head in hand, the blond agent propped her elbow on the window seal. Her eyes barely registered the passing scenery.

Rachel spared a glance in the rearview mirror. Both Chuck and Ellie appeared to be asleep. The agent smiled fondly at Chuck's slumbering form. He sat upright, his head resting against the window. Not the most comfortable position, but it allowed for Ellie to stretch out in the seat and rest her head in his lap.

"So, we gonna do this?" she asked Sarah, confident the siblings were asleep.

"Do what?" Sarah replied emotionlessly.

"The Talk."

"You mean The Talk where I inform you just how lucky you are right now NOT to be either in a detention facility or dead because I put a bullet through you?"

Rachel cringed. Maybe a little more blunt than she would have put it...

"Yeah. That talk."

"How 'bout we not?" Sarah snapped.

"Okay," Rachel drawled. The car settled into an uncomfortable silence. When Rachel could no longer take it: "I should still say thank you..."

"And don't," Sarah interrupted, "make the mistake of thinking I'm doing this for you."

Rachel spared another glance in the rearview mirror. "Believe me, I know."

Sarah's blood boiled at the fond smile that graced Rachel's face as she viewed Chuck in the mirror.

"He's quite remarkable, isn't he?" Rachel asked. "I knew it the moment I began to research him. Even managed to pull up a couple mission reports. The things he's done. No formal training. Just thrown into the fire. Remarkable."

"I'm sorry, did I leave you with the impression I was interested in conversation?" Sarah harshly retorted.

Rachel looked briefly to Sarah. "Wow. You are in love with him."

In the backseat, as she continued to feign sleep, Ellie reached the same conclusion.

"Not that I blame you," Rachel continued, very much aware of Sarah's indignant sputtering. "He's smart, sweet, compassionate. Saves your life at the critical moment." After a beat: "Plus, he's got a nice ass, which is always a bonus."

Sarah gritted her teeth. "Swore I said I wasn't interested in conversation."

"Right," Rachel drawled. "I forgot. When the great Sarah Walker isn't interested, the subject's immediately dropped."

Now that caught Sarah's attention. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rachel breezed right by the explanation. "I wonder how many times you've pulled that on Chuck. Whenever things get too complicated. Which for you is probably every ten seconds."

"And what the hell does that mean?" Sarah demanded.

"It means you have the emotional maturity of a teenage pop star," Rachel snapped back. "Only with lousier history with men."

"First off," Sarah said, extending her pointer finger, "I'm not in love with him."

Two women, one in the driver's seat, the other feigning sleep in back, mentally rolled their eyes at Sarah's assertion.

Extending her middle finger, Sarah continued, "Second, Chuck's a smart guy. He knows we can only be teammates. And third..." Sarah proceeded to retract her pointer finger, leaving only one digit extended, "Screw you."

"Wow," Rachel mocked. "I bet you were on the debate team."

"I repeat my third point," Sarah retorted. Then, she added, "What concern is it of yours anyway?"

Rachel glanced into the rearview mirror again. Smiled fondly at Chuck's slumbering form. "Like I said. He's a remarkable man. A girl would be very lucky to have him." With a quick glance at Sarah, "Something I'm not sure you've realized."

Sarah snorted derisively. "What I hadn't realized is how well you know us."

"Chuck's easy," Rachel shrugged. "What you see is what you get. Smart, kind, funny, brave, loyal. All wrapped up in a very delicious package. And you... you're still the preacher's daughter."

Sarah blinked, confused. If she hadn't been feigning sleep, Ellie would have too.

"Huh?" Sarah finally asked.

"Beautiful. Likes to play the good girl, hut has a wild streak she hides from daddy. And that effervescent charm that brings the boys around like a moth to a flame. At day's end, while you may tease and flirt a bit, you're ultimately untouchable. The preacher's daughter."

"That's crap," Sarah declared.

"Is it? When have you ever let a man truly know you?"

"James..." Sarah began, but Rachel cut her off.

"No, you told James nothing. Everything he knew about you he discovered through your personnel file and a little research."

"Bryce..." Sarah tried again.

"Bryce didn't even know your real birthday."

"We're CIA operatives," Sarah explained. "It's not like we can spill everything to the first pretty face."

"I'm not talking about the first pretty face. I'm talking about the _right _pretty face. The one guy in all the world who can make a hardened CIA operative reconsider everything."

"What do you know about it?" Sarah shot back.

"A hell of a lot more than you," was Rachel's sharp reply. "I've been in love. Revealed parts of myself I swore I would hide until my death. And I've felt complete acceptance in return. Which is more than you can claim." Then, softer, "Because you always screw things up."

Incredulously, Sarah asked, "How do I screw things up?"

"How do you not?" was the reply. "With James, with Bryce. Yeah, you're beautiful and engaging and charming. But you give nothing. Hell, I know nothing about you and we've been friends what? Nine years?"

"In this job we can't give anything away."

"Bullshit. Even I've disclosed a few personal items to you. My first concert, my first boyfriend, my favorite book and movie. Sure, they're little things, but relationships are built on the little things."

Sarah simply shook her head and turned away, gazing out the window at the passing scenery. The gesture irritated Rachel.

"Of course, you're not interested. Big surprise. Just turn away and pretend you can ignore me."

"Like you're an expert on healthy, long lasting relationships."

Soon as the words escaped her lips, Sarah felt a wave of regret. Rachel's gaze frosted over. Her voice was downright chilly.

"At least I've put my heart on the line. You're too much of a coward to ever try." On instinct, Rachel's eyes again flittered towards the rearview mirror. The sight of Chuck's slumbering form did wonders to ease the tension in her body.

"That night in the hotel when the four of us got together. I watched you and Chuck. I could see the devotion in his eyes whenever he gazed upon you. I could hear it in his voice. He's in love with you." With a look to Sarah: "And you're not gonna do a damn thing about it. Wonderful man like him and you're just gonna be a chickenshit."

Then, after a few moments of thought, Rachel said, "Maybe it's for the best. Chances are you'd just screw up a relationship anyway. You're so damn maladjusted."

"Whatever," Sarah muttered.

Angered that she still wasn't reaching her, Rachel tried to think of another tact. A wicked smile appeared on her face as it came to her.

"Of course, if you're too scared to make a play for him..."

Rachel let the thought hang. Just as she hoped, Sarah slowly turned to face her, a cold expression on her face. "Excuse me?"

"Hey, if you're not gonna call dibs..."

"He isn't Heinrich, Rachel. There's no need to manipulate him into playing your lost love."

"Believe me, at first my fascination with Chuck was that. He reminded me so much of Heinrich. But now... he's a different man than Heinrich, but no less wonderful. With Heinrich it was a struggle. I had to learn how to open up. But with Chuck, I could be that for him." With a smirk at Sarah: "He might appreciate that in a woman for a change."

"If you so much as touch him..."

"You'll what? Declare your indifference? If you're not gonna fight for him, I will. Hell, after another rejection or two from you he may just come to me anyway. Lord knows he wouldn't be the first of your men to do so after you broke their heart."

Sarah tried to wrap her mind around the implication. Rachel loved that she was off balance.

"April 2006. Bryce told me all about the fight you guys had in Rio. It was a heavy burden, but I only saw fit to comfort him... again and again and again. By the end of the week I couldn't walk straight because of all the...comfort...I offered him."

Rachel glanced down at Sarah's hands. She was clutching the passenger's door handle fiercely. Rachel smirked. Now it was time for the kill.

"Oh, and James..." Sarah's head snapped around so fast Rachel thought she might get whiplash. "Right after you decided you didn't need him anymore... I don't know how you cast him aside. There is something to be said about a man with experience."

"You're lying," Sarah insisted.

"Am I? Then how do I know about that little scar just above his...?"

"Pull over."

"What's that, Sarah?"

Sarah didn't ask a second time. She grabbed the steering wheel and jerked.

In the backseat, the Bartowski siblings jerked awake. "What the hell?" little brother cried out.

The Grand Cherokee turned violently into the parking lot of a backwater gas station. Rachel slammed the brakes, tossing the siblings into the seats before them.

In an instant, Sarah leapt from the car and marched around to the driver's side. She yanked open the door, grabbed Rachel by the left wrist and jerked her out the car. The motion aggravated Rachel's bullet wound, and the peroxide blonde cried out in pain.

Sarah didn't care in the least. She slung Rachel hard into the dusty ground, which only served to damage the injured shoulder further.

"I said no conversation!"

In moments Sarah was standing over Rachel. She bent down to grab of fistful of hair— Suddenly Rachel's boot came crashing up into Sarah's

groin. The blow stunned her momentarily, long enough for Rachel to send another boot into her belly. The wounded agent flipped to her feet.

"One of these days, Sarah, you're gonna hafta pull your head out of your ass."

With a grunt, Sarah steadied on her feet. "One of these days, Rachel, you're gonna learn to keep your nose out of my business."

"Somebody's gotta knock some sense into your thick skull."

"Well you're about to get something beat into yours."

Sarah swung with a hard right. Rachel blocked with her left, then viciously headbutted Sarah in turn. Sarah stumbled back a few steps, regrouped, then executed a spinning kick that caught Rachel square in the jaw.

It was that moment when Chuck and Ellie climbed from the car. Chuck was horrified to find the two agents slugging it out.

"I gotta stop them!" he declared, intent on rushing in. His sister caught him by the wrist, her eyes telling him something quite different.

"Leave them be, Chuck. They need to work things out."

"What the hell is worth killing each other for?"

Ellie looked Chuck over and marveled how her usually intelligent brother could be so dense. "Someday you'll figure it out."

Just then, Sarah delivered a roundhouse punch and followed up with a kick to the gut, sending Rachel crashing into a soda machine.

"Sarah! Don't hurt her!" Chuck cried. "She just got shot!"

Rachel wiped away a trickle of blood oozing from her lips, a wicked smile on her face. "Yeah, Sarah, don't hurt me."

Her blood boiled. She launched a straight right at Rachel's head, but the other agent dodged at the last moment, leaving Sarah's hand to smack hard against the plastic soda machine.

Sarah howled in pain, first from her possibly broken hand, then again from the left hook to her kidney.

Rachel pressed the advantage, delivering a series of body shots. Sarah did her best to cover up, trying to recoup from the kidney blow. "Whatsa matter, Sarah?" she grunted between blows. "Don't like other children playing with your toys?"

Rachel threw a left, aimed at Sarah's head. Sarah caught her wrist with her right hand, then quickly slammed her left elbow into Rachel's shoulder, directly over the bullet wound.

Rachel screamed and fell to her knees. The pain was amplified as Sarah slapped on an arm bar, wrenching the appendage, milking every last bit of suffering.

"This isn't a game. Chuck isn't some prize to be won."

"Then you're a moron. Because that boy's worth fighting over." Sarah twisted her arm, eliciting a fresh scream. After the initial sharp pain subsided, Rachel looked up at Sarah, gasping for breath. "Look at you. Do you even have a clue why you're fighting?"

Sarah hesitated, which was enough for Rachel to execute a leg sweep. Sarah hit the ground hard. An instant later, Rachel was straddling her hips and pinning her wrists down.

"Are you pissed because I slept with Bryce and James? Why? You may have been with them, but you were never _with _them. Not in any way that mattered. Or are you simply pissed they were able to move on when the Golden Girl cast them aside?"

"Don't flatter yourself. If anything, the recurring theme here is you continue to be second best."

Rachel flinched, hurt by the comment. But she pushed it aside. "Maybe so. But I accept that. I'll never be you. Of course, why would I want to be? I _know_ who _I _am. I'm a woman capable of love. Of putting her heart on the line."

"Look where that got you," Sarah snapped back. "Disowned by the CIA, the only life you've known. Hunted by people who _used _to be your friends. Was falling in love really worth it?"

"Absolutely," Rachel said with conviction. "If I could go back in time and relive it all, even knowing how it ended, I would. Being with Heinrich I felt for the first time that life was actually worth living. For the first time, I knew that someone actually loved me. My God! Sarah! Can you imagine how glorious that feels?" Then, colder, matter-of-factly, "Of course not. You won't let yourself."

Rachel closed her eyes, lost in her thoughts. "Chuck... He evokes so many of those feelings I experienced when I first met Heinrich. And let me tell you, Sarah, love... it's like a drug. Once you feel it, you're hooked." With a grin: "I wouldn't mind having Chuck's hooks in me, among other things."

With a harsh grunt, Sarah drove her knee into Rachel's ribs. The other agent loosened her grip and Sarah flipped them over so that she was atop Rachel. She then clocked the rogue agent across the jaw. Whatever reaction she expected, it wasn't delighted laughter.

"Guess I know why you're fighting me. I told you he was worth it."

"Keep away from him," Sarah hissed.

"I'll do as I please," Rachel shot back. With another smirk, "And if he asks nicely, I'll do as he pleases, too."

Sarah drove another punch across her jaw. It only stunned Rachel for a moment, for the next she monkey flipped Sarah away.

The combatants stumbled to their feet. They only hesitated long enough to catch a quick breath before resuming the fight.

Usually Sarah would use her athletic prowess and quickness to her advantage. But she was so enraged she willingly dropped her martial arts style for a brawler's mentality, which fit right into Rachel's hands.

Rachel was easily the larger of the pair. Two inches taller and nearly twenty pounds heavier, Rachel much preferred to get close and do damage. In a fight like this, Rachel would normally be favored.

But the bullet wound to her shoulder basically left Rachel to fight one handed. And while Sarah's hand was injured from punching the soda machine, it'd numbed up enough for her to continue using it.

So the women moved in close, like heavyweights of yesterday, and began to batter away. Rachel turned southpaw, using her right jab to keep Sarah at bay. Sarah meanwhile attempted to duck inside, to neutralize Rachel's more powerful punches and land some body shots of her own.

As the fighters clashed on the dusty parking lot, an audience began to develop. People slowly approached, trickling out the small convenience store or from the pumps as they filled with gas. Some were even waving around money, obviously taking bets on which of the two beautiful blondes would emerge victorious.

"Just say it, Sarah," Rachel grunted. Sarah managed another sharp hook to her belly.

"Go to hell," Sarah spat.

Despite the pain it inflicted upon her, Rachel lashed out with a left cross to Sarah's jaw.

"Man up, babe. Say the words."

Another fierce combination from Sarah. Rachel reeled, blood oozing from her mouth and nose. With the bullet wound, she wasn't near 100 percent when the fight began.

"You're gonna do it again," she continued to taunt, despite the beating. "You're gonna let another man slip through your fingers. Just because you refuse to grow a set of balls."

Rachel couldn't cover up fast enough. A straight left weaved between her hands and impacted just about her right eye. It was followed by a right cross that hit the "night-night" button on her jaw. She collapsed in a heap.

On the ground, in a place beyond exhaustion, Rachel stared up in a daze at the bright blue sky. She spat up a bit of blood. Despite it all, she continued to chuckle.

"Coward. You can't say it. And that's why you're gonna lose him. It's why you lost all of them."

Sarah stared at her fallen foe. Wiped away a trail of blood oozing from her own nose. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I never told Heinrich."

Suddenly every bit of anger Sarah felt melted away. Rachel's voice was so thick with emotion.

"I'm almost positive he knew. But if I'd just said the words, I wouldn't live everyday with this doubt and regret."

Sarah stared down into the dirt. Tears threatened to spill at Rachel's confession. Yet she still couldn't bring herself to say the words Rachel pushed her to say. Rachel saw this and chuckled again. But this time, there was absolutely no humor to it.

"Damn, Sarah. You still can't say it. You really are gutless."

Sarah looked over to Chuck. He continued to stand by the Cherokee with his sister. He stared in horror at the scene before him. Like a stab to her gut, Sarah noticed his eyes were fixed upon Rachel. He obviously ached to check on his former captor.

"What does it matter? I don't think he has eyes for me anymore."

"If you honestly believe that then you're a moron."

Sarah stared in Rachel's direction, but wasn't truly looking at her. The other agent used her tank top to wipe blood from her nose. Then suddenly, quietly, Sarah asked:

"How do I know?"

For a moment, Rachel stopped dabbing at the blood and looked to Sarah, unsure if she actually heard anything. Sarah seemed to realize this.

"How do I know...if what I feel is real?"

A genuine smile graced Rachel's bloody features. "Damn. Look at you. Maybe not completely hopeless." She extended a hand. "Help me up. We'll discuss it over beer."

Sarah nodded vaguely and helped Rachel to her feet.

-------------

Ten minutes later, Rachel and Sarah sat outside the gas station, backs against the ice cooler. The purchased a bag of ice and some Ziplocs and were currently icing their wounds. Between them were two six-packs of Guinness, one for each agent. Both women had just started their second beer.

"I had so many chances," Rachel mused. "So many nights we shared together." Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "He said it so many times. And he said it so easily. But I knew with absolute certainty that he meant it every time. Why couldn't I...?"

Rachel took a deep slug off her beer, draining half of it. Sarah did the same, though for different reasons.

"Was it worth it?" Sarah asked. "The way it ended..."

"I told you my one and only regret," Rachel replied with conviction. "Looking back, I can honestly say the only time in my life that I've truly been happy are those few months I spent with Heinrich." Taking another pull of beer, she derisively added: "Which speaks to how badly the rest of my life has sucked."

"But... I just can't..." Sarah insisted.

"Why? Because of the job? You know something, Sarah? Screw the job. Because the job will screw you the first chance it gets. Believe me, I know."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"My advice? Buy a pack of Trojans, wear something slutty and easily removable, and give the boy a ride. He'll be yours forever."

Sarah managed a dry laugh. "I thought we were talking about love."

"Hey, just because it's love doesn't mean it can't be dirty, too." For a moment, Rachel became lost in the moment. "Beautiful, filthy love." She snapped back to reality. "Believe me, I know."

The pair sat a few moments in almost companionable silence. Then Sarah said: "I don't like how you look at him."

"Tough. You don't own him. Yet."

Sarah glared. For a moment, Rachel thought she might react violently. Thankfully, Sarah was too damn exhausted to act.

"We should probably get going," was all Sarah offered.

"Probably," Rachel agreed. It took considerable effort, but both women made it to their feet. Clutching their packs of beer, they slowly strode back to the car. "Hey, you think we can stop at a Wal-Mart or something? We're gonna need a few gallons of concealor to cover these bruises."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"And a box of red hair dye. No offense, but I've had enough of blonde. I always love your hair. What brand do you use?"

Sarah's back went stiff. "I don't know what you mean. This is my natural color."

"Right," Rachel drawled. "Those eyebrows say different."

Sarah would have summoned the energy to smack her except they were now in range of Chuck.

"Are you okay?!" his desperate voice sounded.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." Sarah started, only to have her heart break when Chuck immediately went to check on Rachel. She barely noticed when Ellie stepped forward and took her injured hand.

She watched as Chuck's fingers gently caressed Rachel's face, checking her swollen lips and bloody nose. She watched as Rachel closed her eyes, a soft smile upon her face as she gently leaned into Chuck's touch.

"Did you tear your stitches?"

"Hmm?" Rachel hummed, not quite listening to his words, merely listening to his soothing tone as his gently fingers roamed her bruised body.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The women all jolted at Chuck's suddenly angry tone. To everyone's immense surprise, his gaze was fixed on Sarah.

"For God's sake, she was just shot a couple days ago! And you! With the whole twisting of her arm and aggravating her injury! What the hell, Sarah?"

If Sarah wasn't feeling rotten before, she certainly was now. She couldn't look Chuck in the eyes. Very softly she said, "I'm sorry."

"Chuck, don't be upset with her," Rachel injected. "The second rule of being a secret agent: only losers fight fair."

The answer didn't appease Chuck in the least. "What the hell was that about anyway?! Look, I get you both are highly successful kung-fuey secret agents, but I suggest you both lose the alpha female attitudes and focus on the problem at hand! Or have we forgotten about the job at hand? You know, saving a little girl from the evil Nazi guys?"

"We're sorry," Sarah and Rachel said together.

"And you!" Chuck shouted, suddenly turning on Rachel. "I've gotten to know you and I bet you picked this fight with my girlfriend, didn't you?"

Everyone but Chuck seemed cognizant of his use of "girlfriend". The word seemed to damage Rachel worse than any punch Sarah delivered. Sarah, meanwhile, couldn't help the slight smile from gracing her face. Something Ellie noticed from up close as she continued her examination.

Having expelled some of his fury, he finally turned to Sarah with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah said, suddenly feeling like a million bucks. "Nothing some Tylenol and a bucket of makeup can't fix."

Ellie stepped aside so Chuck could begin his own examination of Sarah. While the doctor moved over to Rachel, Chuck's fingers slowly traced over Sarah's face, checking over her bruises. Like Rachel before her, Sarah leaned into the touch. Only she fixed her gaze on her fellow agent, her eyes saying "Nah nah".

"Is her hand broken?"

Ellie shook her head. She continued to watch the interaction between the two agents. She didn't fail to notice how Rachel bristled with tension. Ellie seriously doubted it was due to her own examination of the agent. Rather it was the sight of the other pair that evoked this response.

She never knew her brother had it in him.

Chuck nodded. Very gently he lifted her hand and examined it. In a soothing voice, "We'll find a place to stop. Put some ice on it." Then, sternly, he spoke to both agents. "Get in the truck. I don't want to hear a peep from either of you until we next stop."

Chuck yanked open the rear door. Very obediently and contritely, the agents slipped into the car. Despite the lingering tension between the agents, Rachel whispered to Sarah:

"It's kinda hot when he asserts himself."

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. Then with a sharp glance at Rachel. "Stop talking about him like that."

"Bite me," Rachel replied as Chuck climbed into the driver's seat. The younger Bartowski glared at them in the rearview mirror.

"Do I need to separate you two?"

"No," the agents declared.

Chuck nodded firmly. He twisted the key and fired the ignition. After a few moments of driving, Rachel's voice sounded from the backseat.

"Can you turn on the radio?"

"No."

Rachel settled back against the seat and sighed happily. "So hot," she breathed, loud enough for only Sarah to hear. Her counterpart glared, but did nothing.

About a mile further down the highway, Ellie suddenly asked: "What's the first rule?" Three sets of eyes turned on her in confusion. Clarifying, "Rachel said the second rule of being an agent is only losers fight fair. What's the first rule?"

"Ask Sarah," Rachel responded. "She's the one who follows the rules. A regular girl scout."

Sarah just watched the Mississippi landscape fly by, barely reacting to Rachel's verbal jab. Though the answer to Ellie's question was running through her mind.

Likewise, Chuck barely reacted to yet another knife wound through his heart. He couldn't decide which hurt worse: Rachel's comment, the implications of which had long been his fear, or Sarah's lack of response to it. Either way, he felt the fires of hope inside dim once more.

And Ellie... she was left without an answer. Baffled by the reactions of the others, Ellie simply remained silent, letting her question slide into oblivion.

END PART


	16. Two Distinctly Different Circumstances

Hello, my little heffalumps and woozles. Got some author's notes to discuss before we get into the chapter.

This part was completely unplanned by BillAtWork and I when we outlined things. That being said, I think in a way it needed writing. It also marks the beginning of a trend where Devon, and then Ellie, really get some juicy stuff to do.

Also, I've pretty much decided to write a Sarah/Rachel centric prequel serial entitled "The Glasgow Job". I'm actually looking for someone to do story breaking with, a co-executive producer, if you will. If anyone's interested, please visit my profile and drop me a message.

And finally, just because I can, this chapter goes out to crystalelements for satisfying my curiosity. Thank you.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TWO DISTINCTLY DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES

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BUY MORE

BURBANK, CALIFORNIA

Jeff, Lester, Morgan, and Anna stood around the Nerd Herd desk pretending to work. They watched the chaos around them.

The floors were littered with bits of trash. The shelves were only half stocked. Angry lines of patrons gathered at the cash registers, only half of which were occupied by cashiers, despite the register lights on all being active.

Things had really gone downhill in the two weeks since Chuck disappeared.

An elderly woman approached the Nerd Herd desk, a digital photo frame in hand. "Excuse me," she said sweetly to Morgan. "Can one of you help me with this?"

Morgan turned to the woman, incredulous. "Do you not see we're talking here?"

The woman reacted, contrite. "Oh. Sorry." The woman walked away.

Morgan turned back to his coworker. "Man, this place has really gone to hell."

"Two weeks without Chuckles," Anna said. "He's the glue that holds this place together." With a pointed look at Jeff and Lester: "I'm surprised you two losers haven't managed to burn the place down."

"We resent that remark!" Jeff declared. But then, with a confused look to Lester: "We resent that remark, right?"

Lester nodded, though he did admit: "Chuck is the welcoming lighthouse in this Buy More sea of confusion."

The other three nodded solemnly. Then a tortured scream resonated from Big Mike's office. He wasn't taking Chuck's disappearance well. Every 80 minutes or so he erupted like Old Faithful. Too many responsibilities were now resting on his shoulders.

They would have expected Big Mike to be uttering obscenities, declaring he was going to fire Chuck the instant he returned to work. And for the first day or so he did. But then the nice men in suits came and talked with Big Mike...

"And you really don't know where Chucky's at?" Anna asked Morgan.

"Nope. I guess being someone's bestest bud doesn't mean what it used to." Morgan turned away. He couldn't let them see him cry.

"Well, you don't suppose..." Anna began, but didn't finish, leaving the boys in suspense.

"Suppose what?" Morgan asked.

"Well, Sarah's gone missing, too. So have Devon and Ellie. Maybe they decided to pull a double elopement."

"Gwah!" Morgan cried to the heavens. The love of his life and his best friend married, disappeared, without even telling him! Morgan threw his arms around his girlfriend and bawled into her shoulder. Anna gently rubbed circles on his back. "My life partner," he whimpered into her shoulder. "She took my life partner."

"Morgan," Anna sweetly cooed, "you know how it creeps me out when you call Chuck your life partner."

"Sorry, Anna-banana," Morgan pouted.

"Maybe Chuck killed the others, disposed their bodies in the dark, murky waters of Port of Los Angeles, then skipped down Mexico way where he's currently lounging about, drinking mojitoes, and seducing the senoritas," Jeff suggested. The others turned a strange look upon him, which Jeff naturally misread. "Senoritas means women."

"Thanks, Jeff, for that comforting alternative," Morgan said.

Jeff blinked slowly in response, first his left eye, then his right. The obvious result of fetal alcohol syndrome.

"C'mon," Anna soothingly spoke to her boyfriend. "Let's get you some grape soda on the rocks. Will that make you feel better?"

"What would really make me feel better..." His hand wandered down to her butt.

Anna mocked huffed. "If that will make you feel better." She then bellowed loudly: "Clear the break room!" She proceeded to grab Morgan's hand and haul him towards the employee break room.

After a few moments, Lester turned to Jeff: "You know, with everyone out of the apartment, we should check on Chuck's electronics. Just to make sure no one's messed with them."

"Let me call my buddy, Lyle the Fence, first. He can meet us there."

"Good thinking."

-------------

MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS...

Specifically, the hotel room where only a day earlier some very interesting events occurred.

Casey grimaced at the leopard print sheets. Grunt #2 escaped his lips.

"I feel like I need a shot of antibiotics just standing here."

Devon, meanwhile, was unperturbed. Frankly, he was grinning ear to ear. "Wow!" he declared. "This place brings back memories. Reminds me of the hotel room Ellie and I stayed at the first time we hit Vegas. Let me tell you, I may not have won at slots, but I still hit the jackpot."

Casey shuddered. "Every heard of 'TMI', frat boy?"

The grin disappeared from Devon's face and the young doctor dropped the fist he wanted Casey to pound. "You should turn that frown upside down, dude. You'll find more harmonious outcomes."

Casey glared at the younger man. Then, very slowly, he brought a single finger to his lips. Silence.

When Casey turned away to examine the room, Devon brought a single finger to his lips, imitating the agent. "Don't mock me," Casey warned him.

Devon immediately dropped the finger. "How did you--?" He was wary of any other super-senses the agent might have.

"I can see you in the mirror, dumbass."

Both men looked to the mirror above the set of dressers. Sure enough...

"Oh. I knew that."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Morons even run in the extended family."

It had taken surprisingly little work to find the hotel where Rachel and Chuck had stayed. Casey simply had to find the sort of place an off-the-grid agent might go to lay low. This place was off the main strip. It specialized in cash transactions and discretion.

Plus, the leopard skin sheets reeked of Rachel's brand of humor. Well, they reeked of other things too...

After showing the desk clerk a photo of Rachel and Chuck – and slipping him a couple twenties – the portly man showed Casey and Devon the room. After Devon warned the man about the clubbing of his fingers – a possible sign of heart disease – the man left, leaving Devon and Casey alone in the room.

"Smell that?" Casey asked.

"Be more specific?"

Casey took another sniff. "Peroxide. Either Rachel touched up her hair, or..." He ripped away the leopard sheets, revealing nothing underneath. "They took the sheets. Somebody's wounded."

A sinking feeling developed in Devon's gut. It was fear for his future bro-in-law. He _really_ hoped it wasn't Chuck who was wounded.

Suddenly, Casey's iPhone chirped. He glanced at the phone. "Let's go, Dr. Dorian," he quipped. "There's nothing more to learn here."

"Where?" Devon asked.

"Hospital."

-----------

A minute later, Casey and Devon exited the hotel room. They walked across the courtyard towards the former's Crown Vic.

Across the street, a man watched. As the Crown Vic drove away, he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial.

-----------

Forty minutes later, Casey and Devon were walking the eighth floor hall of Las Vegas Memorial Hospital.

"Why are we here?"

Casey shot him a dirty look. For a moment Devon thought he might not answer. To his surprise, Casey grunted softly before beginning his explanation.

"Old Air Force buddy of mine is now a detective here. When I learned we'd be coming to Vegas, I asked him to do some digging, see if anything strange has happened in town the last few days."

"Has there?"

Casey grunted in acknowledgement. "Two nights ago. A dive called the Over/Under was torched. Run by a real piece of work called Joey Murphy. He and a bunch of his equally skeezy counterparts got shot up before the joint went up in flames. From what my buddy says, Murphy claims it was the work of, as he put it, _The Bitch From Hell_."

"And you think it's Rachel."

"He wouldn't be the first to call her that."

Just then, a detective approached the pair. Mike Ellis. About Casey's age and height. Maybe ten or so pounds heavier. But he had a look in his eye. That of an old soldier. A kindred spirit to Casey.

"Hey Mike," Casey smiled genuinely, clasping his old colleague's hand in a hearty shake.

"Johnny, what you been up to?" Mike smiled in return.

"Oh, you know. I could tell you..."

"But you'd have to beat, waterboard, then kill me," Mike finished. The old soldiers laughed at the joke.

"Put on a few pounds since leaving the Air Force," Casey joked.

"Hey, I'm a civilian now. And a Lieutenant. I can afford to pack on a few pounds." He glanced over to Devon. "Who's the frat boy?"

"Eh, some stiff along for the ride. What you got for me, Mike?"

Mike indicated for the duo to follow him down the hall. "Joey Murphy, the slimy bastard. Know him?"

"By rep, vaguely."

"Yeah, well, he's got a certain unsavory rep in these parts. Which makes what happened two nights ago... poetic."

"You sound heartbroken," Casey grinned.

"It's a blow, but somehow I've found the strength to go on," Mike dryly retorted. "Anywho, the bastard's been whining non-stop. I mean seriously, one bullet wound and a few bruises and he's crying every ten minutes for painkillers."

"Wuss," Casey agreed.

"Now beyond the _Bitch From Hell _comment, old Joey's said squat. Of course, I'm only a Vegas badge. He might have more to say to an NSA agent."

As they reached Joey's room, Mike turned a glance to his friend.

"So what _does_ an NSA agent want with our favorite local bookie?" Casey simply quirked a brow. "Yeah, yeah," Mike said. "Beat, waterboard, kill. Gotcha." Mike patted his old friend's shoulder. "See ya around, John." The man walked away a few steps, then turned back. "You should drop into town on a Thursday night. Some of my cop buddies put on a poker game. We'll deal you in."

"Yeah, I'll drop by sometime."

"And Casey... try not to leave any bruises."

Casey smiled that sinister smile. No promises. "Frat boy," he said to Devon. "Why don't you grab some coffee?"

Casey entered Joey's room, explicitly barring Devon entrance.

---------

"Who are you?" Joey fearfully asked as the very large man entered his room.

"My name's John," Casey cheerfully informed. He proceeded to draw a full hypodermic syringe from his jacket pocket. "And I'll be your doctor today. Now open wide and say ah."

--------

Four minutes later, Casey exited Joey's room. "Hope you packed some sunscreen," he told Devon. "We're going to Miami."

As Casey walked off, Devon spared a glance at Joey's room. He wasn't sure how Casey got the information so quickly. What he _was _sure of was that he didn't _want _to know.

---------

A few minutes later, Casey and Devon stepped out the elevator into the parking garage. Being the middle of the day, the garage was packed to near capacity. And despite it being midday, the garage was cloaked in shadows... which instinctively put Casey on alert.

As they slowly walked to their car, Casey turned to Devon and asked, "You know any fighting skills? Self-defense?"

"Dude, you're talking to a jiu-jitsu blackbelt. Plus, I did the Golden Gloves thing back in college," Devon said proudly.

"Bully for you," Casey said, wholly unimpressed. Sizing Devon up, he reached a sad conclusion. "Hell. I guess you're all I got."

"Got for what?"

"To beat off the guys who are about to come at us."

Devon's head immediately went on a swivel. "What guys?" he asked in alarm.

"Probably Murphy's goons," Casey answered. Then, louder he bellowed, "Or do you boys prefer lackeys?"

"Actually," a voice sounded from the darkness, "I always liked henchmen." A man stepped from the shadows, a wry grin on his face. "Then again, I'm old fashioned." Five other figures appeared, encircling Casey and Devon. "Please, deposit your weapon on the ground."

Casey nodded, expecting the request. He lifted up his shirt and removed the pistol tucked into his jeans. As Casey tossed the weapon away, the lead henchman said:

"I imagine you know why we're here."

"Because somebody's gotta pay," Casey ventured.

"Because somebody's gotta pay," the henchman agreed. "Plus, Mr. Murphy believes Miss Roe might just roll back into town if she knows we captured her good friend John Casey."

"Jeez," Casey muttered to himself. "Do they post our names on a forum now?" Louder, he asked, "So, you got orders to simply take us in, or you supposed to work us over first?"

"Oh, we're supposed to work you over, certainly. But as for the whelp," the henchman said, nodding at Devon, "I have no clue who he is. And since we don't really need him, and I can't very well leave witnesses, I guess he just has to die."

Casey scratched at his head, contemplating this. "In theory I'm all for that. The boy just irks me."

"Hey!" Devon exclaimed.

Casey shrugged, making no apologies. "But thing is, I can't really let you kill him. If for no other reason than it'd be a pile of paperwork for me to do."

The henchman nodded. It was a fair point. "Well, I don't suppose it will hurt to let him live a bit longer. My guys are itching for a fight, isn't that right?" The other henchmen nodded in agreement. "And two heads to smash are better than one."

"I've always thought so," Casey agreed. "So, we fight now?"

Lead Henchman shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it atop the hood of a nearby Mustang. "I'm good to go. Guys?" The other baddies nodded their agreement.

"Uh, John..." Devon started anxiously.

"No sweat, kid," Casey assured. "You take the two on the left, I take the four on the right."

"Okay, I think we're ready," the Henchman said. An instant later, the fight began.

Murphy's lackeys rushed the other two men. In an instant, one of the baddies went down with a shattered nose as Casey landed a vicious roundhouse punch. Another tried to grab the burly agent from behind. Casey flipped him over his shoulder and delivered a harsh boot to his gut before Lead and another lackey pounced upon him.

The other two lackeys jumped on Devon. One grabbed the doctor from behind to hold him steady for the other. Before the other man could strike, Devon lashed out with both feet and delivered a hard shot to the sternum. He then snapped his head back, driving the back of his skull into the man's nose.

Momentarily free, Devon turned to check on John's status. Wide eyed, he saw that John had the Lead Henchman in a headlock and was delivering a series of vicious shots to his skull. Then, his right leg extended high into the air, he had another lackey pinned against a concrete pillar, his boot in the man's throat, choking him. The two other lackeys were still laid out on the ground.

"Wow," Devon said. "Amazing dexterity."

He didn't see that the man he'd booted earlier had recovered. The man charged Devon, slamming into the doctor and driving him atop the hood of a Chevy Malibu.

The man's hands went to Devon's throat, choking him. Devon responded by slamming the heels of his hands into the man's ears. Suddenly free, he slid off the car hood. The man he'd headbutted was struggling to his feet. Up to a knee, the man suddenly received a boot to the face, drawing even more blood from his broken nose. And in a fluid motion, Devon clocked the other man with a right hook to the jaw. The man spun and cracked his head against the Malibu's hood.

Looking back to Casey, he saw the three supporting lackeys on the ground, each flirting with unconsciousness. He had Lead Henchmen pressed against the concrete pillar and was driving heavy fists into the man's gut. Finally bored with this, Casey cracked the man across the jaw, knocking him out.

The NSA Agent wore a happy smile as he approached Devon. Obviously relishing a fight. "You okay, kid?" he asked. Devon nodded as he tried to catch his breath. Getting into a brawl in a parking garage was so much more exhausting than biking 20 miles.

Casey surveyed the damage Devon had inflicted, then checked over the doctor. "Look at you. Two knuckleheads down, barely a scratch on you. You might prove useful yet."

"Thanks. I think."

Casey patted the doctor roughly on the shoulder and offered an almost friendly grunt. It was as much affection as he would ever show. He grabbed his pistol and tucked it back into his jeans. "C'mon, kid," he said. "We gotta go. There's a long drive ahead of us."

END PART


	17. Scars and Souvenirs

Sorry for the delay. I actually finished the first draft of this last weekend, but a weird work schedule prevented me from performing necessary revisions. But here's Chapter 17. It's a long one. so I don't want any lip, my little wombats. Except, of course, for how it ends. I think it's really gonna piss some people off. And, judging from a few reviews, make a couple people kinda happy. Weird.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SCARS AND SOUVENIRS

SOMEWHERE ALONG INTERSTATE 40, HEADING EAST...

Devon stared out the window of the Crown Victoria and idly drummed his fingers against his leg. Man, this was one boring road trip...

For starters, John Casey wasn't the most brilliant conversationalist. In fact, most of the vocalizations he emitted were grunts, which Devon classified under three categories: Bite me, Shut up, and I don't care.

Then, his music. Sinatra. Lots and lots of Sinatra. A ridiculous amount of Sinatra. Devon considered himself an easy going guy, but he really wanted to punch Old Blue Eyes in the head.

"So..." Devon drawled, deciding to give conversation one more chance, just for the hell of it. "I was wondering why we can't just fly to Miami. NSA obviously has use of private jets, given our trip to Roswell."

As expected, Casey grunted in reply. But wait— It didn't fit into any of the three proven categories. It was almost like a grunt of... acknowledgement. As if the question he'd just asked was – for once – not completely stupid.

"Cos if I call the General asking for transport," Casey started, "I'll have to explain why. And I can't without disclosing the fact that Walker and your missus have vanished and that we're no longer following mission objectives. Frankly, none of us need that."

Devon paused a moment, phrasing his next question very carefully. "Sarah said something similar. These objectives, in regards to Chuck and Rachel... Are they what I think they are?"

"Depends what you think."

"I think you're supposed to kill them."

The Crown Vic swayed slightly in the lane, the only indication of reaction from Casey. But it was enough to confirm his theory. While he would never admit it, Casey was highly impressed he figured it out.

"You may be some bad ass government agent, but if you touch my future bro-in-law..."

Casey couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled out of him. The glare Devon shot him only amplified the effect.

"Aw kid. Look at you. Take out a couple second rate lackeys and suddenly you think you're bad."

Devon turned away and glanced out the window. Very casually he said, "Last time I drove? You nodded off for about ten minutes." Looking back at Casey, he wore the slightest of smiles. "Just saying."

Once more, Casey grunted. And this time, it bore the slightest hint of respect.

-------------

MIAMI, FLORIDA

"So, Mr. Nerd Herd supervisor, how are your illicit computer skills?"

Rachel's face gazed at him through the Cherokee's rearview mirror. Somewhere in Mississippi, both agents had purchased a ridiculous amount of makeup. Chuck wasn't quite sure if it was their CIA training or simply the fact they were women, but both managed to fix themselves up to look like something beyond car crash victims.

As for the other agent, while Chuck shared the backseat with Sarah, they certainly didn't share any space. Chuck purposely put distance between the two, breaking said distance only to check on her physical injuries. Sarah's only solace was his similar reaction to Rachel. Obviously he was still disappointed in both agents for their actions in that Mississippi parking lot.

"By illicit you mean...?"

"Exactly what you think."

For the first time in the past day, Chuck actually managed to smile at one of the agents. "I don't condone or participate in any such activities."

Rachel smiled wryly in return. "Riiiight."

----------

SUNSHINE STATE BANK

The Cherokee sat parked outside the bank. Three occupants waited patiently for the fourth to return.

Chuck, Sarah, and Ellie sat in awkward silence. The only sound was the crinkling of a pretzel bag being passed back and forth between the siblings.

Finally, Ellie could take it no longer. "So, Sarah... Do you do this?"

It took a few moments to get over the shock that Ellie was actually initiating conversation with her. "Uh, do what?"

"Set up safety deposit boxes like this."

"Most agents do," Sarah admitted. "In case of emergency."

Chuck sighed. His comment was soft, but Sarah picked it up. "The patented Sarah Walker non-answer answer."

Before Sarah could begin to mope too severely, Rachel returned. Sliding into the jeep, she tossed a small bag into Chuck's lap. "Got it," she declared.

Reaching into the bag, Chuck first found a dummy ID with Rachel's likeness. There was also a passport and a couple credit cards. "Nicole Graves. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Now let's go shopping."

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BUY MORE

As they entered the Miami Buy More, each was struck by an eerie familiarity. The interior was a near spot on copy of the Burbank branch. And the employees...

The Green Shirts were lost in their own little world and completely ignoring the lines of waiting customers. The Nerd Herders were gathered behind their desk watching UFC fights on YouTube. And in the midst of this very familiar insanity, a voice bellowed:

"Kowalski! Will you do something with your damn Nerds?! And when you're done get down to the Convention Center! They need tech support! Get going, Kowalski!"

A tall, gangly man dressed in Nerd Herd garb hustled by, in his hands the standard Nerd Herd metal repair case. "On it, Big Stan!" he shouted on his way out the door.

The four stared after the man. "Huh," they vocalized in harmony. The moment over, they simply moved on.

"What do you need, Chuck?" Rachel asked.

"If I were to explain the technical specs, would you understand?"

"Good point. Off you go."

"What's my spending limit?"

"There is none. Spare no expense, Chuck."

Chuck's eyes glazed over. His breath came in quick pants. Almost like he were...aroused. "'Kay, bye," he said as he rushed towards the computer section.

The women watched him peruse the equipment like a kid in a toy store. Ellie leaned towards Rachel and said, "You just turned my brother loose in an electronics store with no spending limit."

"Mmm hmm," Rachel smiled.

"Huh," Ellie said again. She spared a glance at both agents. Saw the content smile upon Rachel's face. The grim expression upon Sarah's. This...thing...wasn't over. Not by a long shot. "I need to use the restroom," she said, excusing herself.

Sarah said nothing as she too turned away.

---------

THE SUNRISE PALACE

One of Miami's elite hotels. Five stars, located a stone's throw from the beach. The place to stay for rich and the good.

"Shoulda booked ahead," Chuck quipped. "This place is packed."

"It's always is," Rachel said. "That's why we stopped at the Buy More first. How's it coming?"

Across the street from the hotel, the four gathered around the hood of the Cherokee. Chuck's fingers flew across the keys of his brand new TG-3800 laptop. After singing a song about his new toy – and caressing the device in a manner that made his female companions blush – Chuck set to work hacking into The Sunrise Palace's operating system.

"Bit slow. It's tough to pick up wi-fi on this street corner."

"Pick a nice room," Rachel instructed. "A suite if you can."

"Okay."

"And something with a view. Preferably eastern exposure. I like a nice sunrise and ocean view."

"For someone who last picked a hotel with leopard print sheets, you're awful picky."

"Watch it, boy-o. I can take away your new toys."

Chuck simply grinned in response. For Sarah, it was merely another punch to the gut.

With a final keystroke, Chuck declared, "Sorry Mister and Missus Richard De Palma. Your reservation has been lost."

----------

A few minutes later, Rachel led the group inside the building. The desk clerk sized up the ragtag group, prepared to alert security. But when Rachel smiled and slipped her black no-limit credit card across the counter, the clerk's tune shifted immediately.

"Nicole Graves plus three. I believe we have a reservation."

--------

To call it a suite was an understatement. It was more a penthouse loft. And to Chuck's surprise, upon entering the suite, instead of marveling at the sheer opulence of their surroundings, each of the women called in rapid succession—

"Bathtub!"

They made a mad dash for the nearest bedroom. To Chuck's complete lack of surprise, Ellie won, even delivering a few elbows to beat the agents away from the door.

At the exact same moment, both agents turned across the large common room, towards the other bedroom. Both ran at breakneck speed. Sarah hurdled a couch. Rachel slid across the dining table. But as they approached the door, at the very last instant, a common thought crossed both their minds:

The loser would be left alone with Chuck.

Both skidded to a stop. "After you," Rachel insisted.

"No no," was Sarah's answer. "Age before beauty."

"Yeah, like I said, after you."

With a hard shove, Sarah pushed Rachel into the bathroom and shut the door. Latching onto the knob, she held the door shut, preventing Rachel's escape. She smiled sheepishly at Chuck.

Chuck just shook his head. "I'm gonna watch TV." He headed towards the couch and the wonderful flat screen plasma mounted to the wall. Sarah sighed.

---------

It was nearly two hours later before everyone gathered again around the dining table. Rachel and Ellie had long completed their baths. Sarah recently finished, still drying her hair.

She paused, finding the other women leaning over Chuck's shoulders as he typed away at the laptop. But as was the new custom, Sarah's focus wasn't on Ellie's interaction with him, but rather Rachel's.

The other agent leaned over Chuck's shoulder, watching the computer screen. She nodded as Chuck rambled about some technical aspect, genuinely listening to him. But it was Rachel's right hand that most concerned Sarah.

If Sarah didn't know better, she'd swear it was entirely subconscious. But Sarah knew better, she knew Rachel. And it was quite deliberate the way her hand rested against Chuck's neck, her thumb twirling through the dark curls of hair. Knowing how intent Chuck could be when working, Sarah knew he might not be aware of the touch. Or he might be hyper aware. There was an easy way to test both theories.

Sarah cleared her throat, drawing their attention. Rachel quickly removed her hand. Chuck, meanwhile, casually turned and spared a quick glance, then went back to work.

Right on both counts.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Chuck's doing some research for us," Rachel explained.

"According to the hotel's database, there is no Alexander Harris booked anytime this month," Chuck informed.

"Not surprising," Rachel said. "Part of his deal with the government was to remove his name from the grid. Which means he must use aliases."

"A man like Harris," Sarah inserted, "will take precautions. Advanced security detail."

Rachel nodded. "And he won't be here longer than necessary. The game starts tomorrow at sunset. While his security may already be here, he won't arrive until tomorrow afternoon."

Sarah agreed. "So check reservations. Check-ins tomorrow, check-outs the morning after."

"Once you find matches," Rachel said, "check the neighboring rooms. Several rooms together with identical check-ins and check-outs."

"Why?" Ellie asked.

"His security staff will be in the neighboring rooms," Sarah explained. "Maybe even the rooms above and below. Standard procedure for the rich and paranoid."

Chuck typed in the parameters and hit enter. The results quickly displayed. "It looks like... Jacob Ryder. Room 708. It's a mid level suite."

"Not too opulent, but not down with the commoners," Rachel said.

"Perfect blend of comfort and camouflage," Sarah continued. "Just the sort of room someone like Harris would choose."

"Chuck, what about the hotel security systems?" Rachel asked.

"There's only so much I can accomplish using the hotel wi-fi," Chuck explained. "If we want access to security video and other systems, there needs to be a physical tap of their system, which can then be relayed to my laptop."

"Can you do that?"

"Uh..." Chuck stammered. "I guess..."

"Excellent! Do you have what you need to do it?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Fantastic! It needs to be done quickly as possible." Rachel stepped away from the group, lost in thought. After a moment, "Which brings about the next issue. We need cash. Fast."

"Why?" Ellie asked again.

"I need to get Chuck into the game."

"No," Sarah firmly stated.

"Sarah, be reasonable. I don't like it either, but Chuck needs to sit across from Harris tomorrow night. Who knows what he might say or do that could trigger a flash that will help us."

"Once we get security feeds online, Chuck can easily do that from the safety of this room."

"If he's up here, who's in the game? Not only will Harris have his own personal security, but this game will feature at least twelve players anteing up a half million each. That's a six million dollar jackpot. This hotel no doubt already has its own private security in place. And not just some old beat cops growing fat on their pensions. But trained security personnel. I need you to help me deal with that."

"You'll just have to improvise," Sarah said. "I'm the best poker player. I pump him for info, keep him in the game and out of his room to give you time to operate."

"What about me?" Ellie asked.

Everyone turned to stare. With a thoughtful expression, Rachel said, "That's not a bad idea," just as Sarah vehemently said, "Absolutely not."

Ellie turned a hard look on Sarah. "It's not your operation, is it? I don't need your permission."

"Ellie, be reasonable..."

"You should be happy, Sarah. This plan keeps Chuck out of harms way. That's what a big sister does."

"Ellie, I can do this..." Chuck started. But she would have none of it.

"Chuck, hush. I'm your big sister and you'll do as I say."

Chuck knew that tone. So he did the only reasonable thing. He hushed. And Sarah did what she seemed to do with greater occurrence. She silently fumed.

"Well, Eleanor Bartowski," Rachel smiled. "Looks like you get a crash course in Secret Agent 101. However, it will be a moot exercise if we can't wrangle up the buy-in fee."

"Didn't have another retirement package in that bank?" Chuck asked.

"Just petty cash," she said. "A few thousand. Enough to get me somewhere else in event of emergency. I can't generate the funds we need. Not in twenty-four hours."

"I can," Sarah said quietly. Suddenly everyone's focus was on her. Sarah shuffled nervously. "Just, uh, let me make a call." She grabbed one of the prepaid Tracphones they bought and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Chuck turned to Rachel. From the look on her face, he knew that she knew what was going on. "Who's she calling?" he asked.

Her nervousness made him suspicious. "Probably a man called James Craig," Rachel informed.

"And who is he?"

"He's, uh, well he's an old friend. A mentor to, uh, to both of us actually."

Chuck didn't like the way she said mentor. "A mentor?"

"Yeah. He was, uh, you know, a big shot back in the day. Took us under his wing."

Chuck nodded tightly. "So they're apparently close enough that she can ask him for half a million dollars. Close enough that she believes he'll simply give it to her, no questions asked."

"Well, there's a bond between mentor and protégé," Rachel weakly said.

"Has he ever given you half a million dollars?"

"Well, no..."

"Would he if you asked?"

Rachel scratched her head, trying to come up with an answer. But all she could offer was a lame, "I don't know..."

"But she thinks he'll give it to her." Chuck nodded, having reached his conclusion. "Okay then."

A few minutes later, Sarah returned, a fake smile plastered upon her face. "We should have the money by tonight. He's transferring the funds into one of my secret accounts."

"Who is?" Chuck asked.

The fake smile faltered momentarily. Sarah had really hoped he wouldn't ask. Silly really. After all, he is Chuck...

"My former mentor. I explained the situation in vague detail. Said it sounded like a worthy cause and that he would send the money."

"Right. I'm going to watch some TV," Chuck said and began to move off.

"No you don't," Rachel said, grabbing his wrist. "You have work to do. You and Sarah." Both snapped their attention towards her. "You need to work on tapping the security system. And you can't be left alone. Sarah should watch after you."

The only person more puzzled by Rachel's declaration than Chuck was Sarah. She gazed quizzically at her fellow agent, only to receive a slight head quirk in return. _Don't blow it_ was the message.

"Besides," Rachel continued, "Ellie and I need to go shopping."

It was Ellie's turn to look quizzical. We do?

------------------

When Rachel said shopping, Ellie didn't quite expect this. Rachel drove to the high-class shops on Collins Avenue. Storefronts filled with designer clothing and accessories. Ellie was actually feeling quite faint at the prospect.

Currently they frequented a shop featuring designer evening gowns. Ellie stepped from a changing room, clad in a shimmering blue-grey gown. She examined herself in a mirror, awestruck by the beauty of it. Suddenly, a wolf-whistle sounded nearby.

"Damn. Look at you," Rachel said. "Doctor Babe-owski on call."

"I think it's a bit much," Ellie said, glancing down at her neckline. The dress certainly showed off her...assets.

"Nonsense," Rachel insisted. "Guy can't concentrate on his own cards so long as he's staring at your pair."

"That's...a little disturbing."

"Maybe," Rachel admitted. "But it's a lesson they teach all female recruits at Sparrow School. If at all possible, redirect a mark's blood flow south. If he's thinking with his little head, he isn't thinking with his big one." Examining Ellie's hair, she said, "You know, I'm thinking you should wear a French twist with this dress. A little loose and messy. What do you think? Something to show off your neck."

"I think I'm not quite believing that I'm discussing designer dresses and hairstyles with my brother's kidnapper."

Rachel froze a moment. But just as quickly, she resumed playing with Ellie's hair. "Yeah, well, I don't expect to be forgiven..."

"Good," Ellie responded. "It might be water under the bridge for Chuck, but not for me."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"Because Chuck thinks you need help. And I trust his judge of character."

Short, simple, and sweet. Rachel's respect for the family was growing by the minute.

"Remember," she said, moving back to business, "you need to keep him engaged. Don't be afraid to use your feminine wiles."

"What if I can't keep his interest?"

Rachel spared at glance at Ellie's chest. "I don't think that will be an issue."

Ellie offered a wry smile. "Is that really how this business works?"

Rachel returned the smile. "A little leg and a little cleavage goes a long way. A man will tell a woman damn near anything to get her in the sack, even things that are state secrets."

"Seriously?" Ellie asked, not quite believing it.

"C'mon, Ellie, you're a babe. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."

"I'm not in the business of seducing men."

"Business, pleasure, what's the difference?" was Rachel's answer. "You telling me you never took timeout from med school studies for a little stress relief? Get dolled up, find the cutest guy in the bar, and then...work your wiles?"

Ellie futilely turned away to hide a blush. Rachel laughed and smiled knowingly at her companion. "It's a trip, yeah? The right dress, the right move, the right word, the right touch. It's remarkable how easy it is to turn a man into a puppet on a string."

"You enjoy it," Ellie observed.

"I certainly used to," Rachel admitted. "There is something to be said for this job. The way it allows you to create an entirely new persona. It, uh, frees you. Because when you become someone else, the old rules fall by the wayside. You can do anything. Without regret, without ambiguities. It's a very 'in the moment' type existence."

"Sounds...interesting," Ellie coolly offered. But underneath was a definite hint of interest and curiosity. However, her rational mind regained control. "What about my brother? Is he a puppet on your string?"

"Of course not," Rachel answered, seemingly offended. "I respect him."

She said it so easily. Ellie couldn't be sure if it was the lie of a well-trained actress or an honest declaration.

"Forgive me if I don't trust your words at face value."

"Ah. You're really taking to these lessons I'm giving you. Good on you."

"I'm trying desperately to understand the dynamic between you three. What exactly are your intentions with my brother? And I swear to God, if you say _'It's complicated'_, I will..."

"We're both interested in him romantically," Rachel said. Off Ellie's shock, she asked, "What? You think us Secret Agent Hotties are out of his league?"

"Actually, I don't think either of you are good enough for him."

The comment didn't faze Rachel in the slightest. "Probably so."

After another moment, Ellie added, "And I'm not used to honesty when I direct such questions to CIA agents." Rachel nodded in understanding. "Of course, the question remains..."

"Your brother is sweet, smart, compassionate, funny..." A wanton look graced Rachel's features. "And God, that ass. I'd pay good money to hit that..."

"Okay! Enough! Good Lord, I don't need to hear that!"

Rachel grinned at her discomfort. But then, serious, "You're absolutely right to question our motives. It's what a good agent would do. But I want to assure you, both Sarah and I care deeply for you brother."

"Are you in love with him?"

Rachel contemplated the question. "Not yet, no. But...I think the potential is there. With your permission, I'd like to find out."

"With my permission?" Ellie replied, stunned.

"He is your family. It only seems proper. Besides, I did technically kidnap him. I hate to ratchet the tension up further by not announcing my intentions to court your brother."

"What about Sarah?" Ellie asked.

"She is madly in love with him," Rachel announced. "Though I have serious doubts she'll ever act upon it."

"Why?"

"Sarah still feels certain...loyalties...that I no longer do. Basically the CIA offered her a sense of belonging and she's afraid to lose it. Even for a chance at love."

Ellie considered this answer. "So, you're basically saying that she's an emotional invalid and you express romantic interest by kidnapping. Are all CIA agents as screwed up as you two?"

"Ha!" Rachel snorted, positively tickled. Other shop patrons turned to look. Rachel ignored them as she giggled. "Oh, you have no idea," she finally offered. "But really, don't ask unless you absolutely want to know."

After a moment, Ellie offered, "I want to know."

Rachel reacted with surprise. She spared a quick glance at her watch. "It okay if we discuss things over dinner? It'll be a long talk."

---------

It had taken remarkably little effort for Sarah to ready the necessary supplies for the job at hand. A couple quick bumps in the hallway with staff provided her with a couple employee ID's. Using her ever present lock pick set, she gained access to a staff supply closet and two uniforms.

Dressed as a maid and concierge, respectively, Sarah and Chuck slipped behind the main desk and down the employee corridor. As they approached the room marked 'SECURITY', Sarah made to retrieve her lock picks once more. To her surprise, Chuck kept walking.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asked.

"To perform the tap," he explained, as if it were terribly obvious.

He pushed open the door marked 'BASEMENT' and went down. Sarah hurriedly replaced her lock picks and chased after him.

Moving quickly down the stairs, Sarah found Chuck already at work. Power screwdriver in hand, he was busy removing the paneling from a large metal cabinet hanging from the wall. When the panel finally came off, it revealed a tangled mass of circuitry so dense Sarah's eyes popped out.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

Chuck hesitated a moment. He mumbled softly to himself, but Sarah managed to pick it up. "You never used to doubt me." Reaching into his bag of supplies, Chuck began extracting the tools he needed and set to work.

As Chuck worked steadily in silence, it was Sarah who finally became unnerved. "Listen, Chuck..."

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?" Sarah asked in surprise.

"Don't try to equivocate. That's the tone of voice you always use."

"I'm not trying to equivocate," Sarah defended. "And what am I equivocating about?"

"The phone call you made. Rachel gave me the scoop." Sarah's blood began to boil at that, but Chuck's next words put a damper on it. "She tried to skirt the topic out of respect to you, but I caught the drift."

"Chuck...it's complicated."

A humorless laugh filled the room. "Right. The standard answer. It's complicated."

"Well, it is," Sarah insisted. "My relationship with James isn't easily definable."

"But you've slept with him."

Sarah reacted to the blunt statement. Usually Chuck wasn't so forward. "We were lovers. Many years ago."

Chuck's muscles tensed at the admission, but he kept on working. "You know, I'm really beginning to see a trend."

Sarah really didn't like where this was going. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is...James, Bryce. You were with them. You had relationships with them. And, you know, it's just suddenly so clear. For all your preaching about how we can never be together because I'm your asset, it just doesn't jive. Even the remarks Casey makes..."

"You're listening to Casey?" Sarah asked in disbelief, hoping to knock some sense into him. But Chuck continued on.

"He mentions your habit of becoming involved with your partners. And now, what I heard earlier, the facts become clear."

Sarah gulped, dreading the words he was about to speak.

"The fact that we work together isn't the reason we can never be. You obviously don't have a problem with office romance. The fact is, you just don't want to be with _me_."

Sarah closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears back. Her heart was ripping. But so focused on the task at hand, Chuck didn't even notice.

"Chuck," she croaked. "That isn't..."

"Like I said, don't," Chuck repeated. "This dance of ours...it's getting old. I get you're not good with people, with relationships. But I've given you so many chances to make just a _little _headway, but you never do."

Chuck paused a moment, hoping for a response. None came.

"Listen, we finish this job and go home. We can continue to work together. I'd prefer to, actually. You may not love me, but I trust you to keep me alive. I'll even continue our cover relationship. But you never again have to worry about me trying to blur the lines between cover and real."

For the first time, Chuck actually turned to look at her. Sarah's head was turned, eyes fixed on a point on the floor. He had hoped to see some sign, some indication of denial. Anything to give him some semblance of hope. Seeing none, and with a heavy sigh, Chuck turned back to the problem at hand. Never seeing the wetness building in Sarah's eyes. Or how her shoulders slumped in defeat. Deeply affected by his words, like a knife to the stomach.

With a few last adjustments, Chuck declared the job finished. Sarah held the panel in place for him to screw it back on. In silence, they climbed the stairs and returned to their suite.

----------

"I'm just trying to understand this," Ellie said. "What sort of people is my brother dealing with?"

The two women sat in the patio dining area of the café. All around were the spoils of their recent excursion, boxes and bags full of designers dresses, shoes, and accessories.

"_To complete the ensemble," Rachel insisted. "If we're to hang around a high stakes poker game, we must look like we belong. You especially."_

"Honestly? An unpleasant sort," Rachel informed her. She then lit a Marlboro and took a deep drag. "Oh man. Been forever since I've had a smoke."

"Those things will kill you," Ellie said.

"In this business, a lot of things could kill me."

"And I'm meant to be comforted?"

"Try not to fret," Rachel advised. "Chuck has Sarah Walker and John Casey guarding him. There's none better." Then, with wry amusement, "A fact everyone reminds me of at every opportunity."

"So why'd you even join the CIA? Why did Sarah?"

"People don't become deep cover operatives when they grow up well adjusted. It's, um, it's the reason so many join the military. It offers a sense of belonging. Or an escape from less than stellar childhood circumstances."

Rachel visibly shuddered as some memory overtook her. She quickly shook it away.

"But, like I said, the CIA isn't without its appeal. Especially when you're an impressionable kid. You'd be surprised how much of the Bond stuff actually comes into play. Exotic locals, the seductions, the gun play. It can be a thrill living on that razor's edge."

"Sounds exciting," Ellie said, intrigue again in her voice.

"There is a certain appeal to the power we wield over others, whether it be physical, psychological, or sexual. But then, uh, it changes. They change you."

"The CIA?"

Rachel nodded. "Emotions are frowned upon. If you have them, they teach you to shut them out. Which, you know, for some of us was easier than others. It was a lesson I was taught long before the CIA got me."

That faraway look appeared once more in Rachel's eyes. For an inexplicable reason, Ellie found the need to save her from those memories.

"And Sarah?"

Rachel snapped back to reality. For a moment, she appeared out of sorts, trying to remember the question. "She feels emotions intensely. That's never been her problem. In fact, the one knock on Sarah has always been she's too emotional. She just doesn't know what to do with them."

"How can such a lovely girl..." Ellie began.

"Lovely girls," Rachel began, "_well adjusted girls_, they become schoolteachers, or lawyers, or doctors," she finished with a pointed look to Ellie. "I said before, you don't get our job by being well adjusted." Derisively, she added, "Wouldn't be much use to them otherwise." Rachel took a deep drag off her cigarette. "This job, it may allow you to create a new persona, but after a while...you forget what it's like to be you."

After a few moments of consideration, Ellie finally said, "I don't know what your feelings are. Frankly, at this point, I'm not even sure of mine. All I do know is the one person whose opinion does matter isn't sitting at this table."

Ellie thought the melancholy might return as Rachel contemplated her words. But to her infinite surprise, Rachel plastered a wide smile upon her face.

"Enough with the dour talk," she insisted. "We gotta get you mission ready. Ellie Bartowski, I'm gonna teach you how to work a mark. Being a hottie, you're likely familiar with many of these tactics. So let's begin. Pretend I'm Harris and show me what you got."

For the next hour, Rachel helped prep her for the mission. And to Ellie's incredible surprise, she actually...enjoyed herself.

---------

It was nearly 9 pm before Rachel and Ellie returned to the suite. After tipping the bellhops for their assistance in carrying their bounty of shopping bags, both noticed the uncomfortable silence that permeated the room.

Sarah sat at the dining table, absently poking at a Caesar salad. When the other women entered, her gaze shifted down to her food, unable or unwilling to look at them.

Chuck, meanwhile, was busy working with the plasma screen TV. His laptop was wired in, and by the looks of things, his tap into the security system was working.

"Hey!" Rachel said excitedly. "You got it!"

"Yup," Chuck said proudly. "We now have full access to security feeds on all thirty floors. Plus I'm wired into everything from the locks on doors to the fire safety systems. This building is under my control."

Ellie was positively stunned. "Chuck, you really did all that?"

"Sure. It's easy enough which wires to cross and what buttons to push."

He made it sound so ridiculously easy. "Wow," was all Ellie could offer. But it was enough to convey just how impressed she was.

"I told you how impressive your brother is," Rachel reminded. "Some of the mission reports I read...stealing a building is child's play in comparison."

"I always knew he could do big things," Ellie proudly offered. "And now, I think I want to go to bed." She frowned. "How _are _we handling the sleeping arrangements?"

"Rachel and I, you and Sarah," Chuck immediately said. Only Sarah was unsurprised by the announcement. Though Rachel didn't know whether to be thrilled or confused.

"Any particular reason..." Rachel began.

"Because I'm not ready to trust you and Sarah alone," Chuck offered. Though unspoken, the palpable tension in the air indicated why he and Sarah wouldn't be sharing. "In fact, I'm off to bed myself."

He approached Ellie and kissed her cheek goodnight before disappearing into one of the bedrooms.

Rachel sent a look Sarah's way, one that clearly said: _I set you two up together and you blow it? What the hell did you do now?_ Sarah shook her head and resumed playing with her food.

Then Sarah and Ellie locked eyes. With a heavy sigh, Sarah said, "I'll take one of the couches out here.

Ellie nodded and went into the other bedroom. Suddenly the two agents were left alone. Rachel was obviously frustrated by her counterpart's attitude.

"I gave you a shot," Rachel informed her. "Just remember that."

And with that, Rachel followed Chuck into the bedroom.

-------------

In the darkened bedroom, the moonlight flooding from the window and basking the room in a soft hue, Chuck lay on the king sized bed. The only bed in the room.

Despite the fact he would shortly be sharing a bed with a gorgeous woman, Chuck was utterly calm. He merely stared up at the ceiling, hands folded across his chest, a thoughtful expression upon his face, his mind trying to wrap around his current situation.

"Are you okay in there?" he finally called to the bathroom.

"Yes," was his answer. "I'll be there in a moment."

True to her word, Rachel appeared a few moments later. Chuck breathed sharply in response, for as Rachel stepped out of the bathroom, he bore witness to a vision he didn't expect. But he was witness to just that: a vision.

Once more, Rachel's hair was returned to its natural color. It hung loosely about her face, still a bit damp from the recent dye job. So enraptured by the sight of her dark red hair, it took a few moments to realize another fact.

Rachel wore absolutely nothing. Her pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight. But surprisingly enough, it wasn't the near perfection of her figure that drew Chuck's attention.

Chuck could plainly see the evidence of her life as a CIA operative. There was the freshly stitched bullet wound adorning her shoulder. But there was also another similar wound, older and scarred over, marring her otherwise flawless stomach.

Chuck sat upright, entranced. As he moved closer, his gaze poured over her body, examining each and every bit of evidence. And Rachel merely stood there. Momentarily he was distracted as she shyly tucked a stray wet strand of hair behind her ear. He noticed how the pinky finger was slightly crooked, evidence of a bad break and improper healing.

There was a straight wound along her inner right bicep, about two inches long, possibly from a knife. Then there was a scar on her right leg, below the knee running along the shin. A surgical incision.

Rachel slowly turned, revealing her backside. Again, after taking note of her exquisite form, Chuck's eyes were then drawn to her back, just behind her right ribs. Evidence of burns. And then, along her left side, above the hip, what looked to be a puncture wound.

As she continued to slowly turn for his examination, he noticed a myriad of other small nicks and scars, souvenirs of her occupation. And as she once more faced him, Chuck saw how she made no effort to cover the bruises of her fight with Sarah. Her face was dotted in green and purplish blotches.

She looked absolutely beautiful.

"I'm damaged, Chuck," she finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And not just because of the CIA. My life has been..." She laughed, completely devoid of humor, but filled with a lifetime of pain.

"I've done things," she continued. "And I've had things done to me. Things that I'll never fully recover from. But I..."

Her eyes sparkled from unshed tears. She so desperately needed to convey what she was feeling, but words seemed to pitifully woeful. Chuck waited patiently for her.

"If there's one thing Heinrich tried to teach me it's that when you're in love, you should never have to hide who you truly are. You should never have to hide your scars."

Then, in an instant, some semblance of the empowered agent was back. She met his gaze. Chuck shivered at the sheer intensity and heat. "I wasn't good enough for Heinrich. And I'm not good enough for you. But if you'll have me, I will make you a solemn promise. I will never hide my scars from you."

Chuck closed his eyes as Rachel leaned in and softly brushed her lips against his.

END PART

* * *

Oh yeah, that's how I end it. What are gonna do about it? None of you know where I live. Seriously folks, please review. It'll probably get Chapter 18 completed faster.


	18. Queen of Hearts

Damn. Never in my life did I expect so many reviews as I received for Chapter 17, both positive and negative. As many have expressed to me, I should be proud of the passionate response from both sides. And I am. And just because I can, I decided to have a little fun with all those reviews as I wrote this chapter.

As for Chapter 18, for those who decided to jump ship after 17 for various reasons... Well, I guess they jumped a chapter too early. For my loyal Charah supporters, you finally receive your reward.

And finally, I'd like to thank some people. First, BillAtWork, my beta and idea generator. If you love this fic, thank him in your reviews. If you hate it, it's all on me. Also, thanks to folks like cville, crystalelements, and Yokaputo for their kind words, and in cville's case, the awesome philosophical discussion of Sarah, once the not-so-positive reviews for 17 rolled in.

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: QUEEN OF HEARTS

_Moonlight. Basking the bedroom. Reflecting softly against the white silk sheets of the tousled bed. _

_Atop the bed, two nude figures writhe together in ecstasy. Both sit up, her in his lap, legs wrapped tightly around his back, desperate to feel him. One arm wraps around his neck. The other reaches behind her, tightly gripping the bedsheets. Their skin practically glows from moonlight and exertions._

"_Oh God."_

_The pace quickens. Hands roam over flesh. Heavy pants, soft grunts._

"_Touch me."_

_In a quick, fluid motion he pushes her hard upon her back. Before she can mourn the loss of his touch, of him within her, he returns, more powerful than ever. _

_Their lovemaking reaches a fever pitch. White hot. Words have long since been lost, only delicate moans and whimpers, only heavy grunts remain. Their meanings, however, are not lost. The sounds drive them harder, faster, building towards release._

_She cries out, her voice reverberating against the walls. She shudders, trembles, her heels digging into his buttocks, her fingernails into his shoulders. _

_He screams his release. The sensations inside her drives her to ever more incredible depths. _

_The tidal wave recedes. Both figures collapse to the bed. He tries to roll aside, sure his weight is suffocating. She will have none of that, gripping him tightly, unwilling to let go._

_His fingers move up to her brow and sweep away a strand of sweat soaked hair. In her ear he breathes—_

"_Sarah..."_

_--------_

"Chuck!"

Sarah gasped awake, bolting upright on the couch. Her face flush, her breathing heavy.

"Christ," she managed. She collapsed against the couch, her head resting back, staring up at the ceiling. "You're pathetic," she spat. "Completely and utterly."

Her eyes only just adjusted to the darkness when she heard a light creak. She turned in the direction of Rachel and Chuck's bedroom. Their door opened slightly, and out stepped Rachel, hair mussed, clad in blue jeans and pulling on a black tank top.

Just when she thought her heart couldn't break again, it did.

Silently sliding down, she pretended to be asleep. She really didn't want to see Rachel gloat over the situation. But then, Sarah heard a most curious thing.

A sniffle.

Rachel?

The room's main door opened briefly, and presumably Rachel left. When Sarah dared look she saw that indeed, Rachel was gone.

Without even realizing it, Sarah made her decision. She quietly reached into her own shopping bags and extracted a pair of jeans and t-shirt. Grabbing her keys, cellphone, and Colt, she went to pursue Rachel.

---------

Striding off the elevator into the lobby, Sarah was faced with a couple options. Which way would Rachel go? Would she leave the building, or would she go to the—

"Excuse me," she said to a bellhop. "Which way to the bar?"

The bellhop pointed. Sarah murmured thanks and went off in that direction.

But to her surprise, Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Surprisingly enough, there were very few people about. She went to the bartender.

"Did you see a redhead come through here? My age, a bit taller?"

The bartender nodded. "Came in a minute ago. Bought a bottle of Grey Goose and went towards the Great Room."

"Gimme a couple glasses?"

The bartender did. Sarah went to the Great Room.

It was already set up for the poker game the next night. Two long tables, each capable of sitting six players plus a dealer, were the focal point of the room. There were other tables scattered around the room for smaller games and spectators. There was also another bar ready and waiting to go.

At one of the smaller tables, Rachel sat alone. In fact, besides her and Sarah, the room was devoid of people.

In the darkened corner, Rachel idly shuffled a deck of cards. She stopped long enough to take a swill from her full bottle of vodka.

"This isn't Russia," Sarah softly spoke. "The least you can do is act civilized and use a glass."

Rachel snorted in laughter. It did little to belie the fact her eyes were red and puffy.

"Sarah Walker," Rachel loudly declared. Underneath the table, Rachel kicked out the chair, offering Sarah a seat. "Take a load off."

Sarah eased into the seat. Sliding a shot glass across the table, Rachel promptly filled it and tossed it back, then filled it again.

Sarah sat very stiffly, awkwardly. Unsure what to say. "I, uh, didn't expect to see you down here."

Rachel sipped at this shot. With a quirked brow offered, "Well, I had hoped to be otherwise occupied."

"What happened?" Sarah asked, both frightened and eager to know.

Then, with incredible sadness, to a degree that even made Sarah ache, Rachel said, "What do you think?"

-----------

"_Chuck..." Rachel breathed. Very delicately, she slid into Chuck's lap. _

_Her lips pressed against his, allowing him to feel her full passion. But to her infinite surprise, there was only the barest reciprocation. Pulling back, gazing into his eyes, Rachel saw it. And the sight made her heart break._

"_Chuck..." she whimpered._

"_I can't," he feebly said._

_With a brief cry of anguish, Rachel dismounted and reached behind him. She jerked at the bedclothes, forcing Chuck up. She grabbed a sheet and began twisting it around her form, intent on making a hasty getaway to the bathroom._

_Suddenly, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked into Chuck's eyes once more. The pain that reflected there did nothing but deepen her own._

"_It's her," she whispered. "No matter what I do, it's always going to be her."_

"_Rachel...it isn't like that. You are extraordinary. And under any other circumstance..." Chuck trailed off, trying to form his thoughts. "But despite everything, I have to believe the Sarah I've been seeing isn't the real Sarah. I...I owe her the chance."_

_Rachel choked by a sob. "She may never take it. Are you willing to wait forever?" _

_Chuck remained silent. Rachel decided to press._

"_Chuck, I'm here, now, willing to give you all I have. I can... When this is over, I want you to come with me."_

_Chuck stared in disbelief. "Rachel..."_

_With a near desperation, Rachel closed the distance. While one hand clutched at her makeshift robe, the other reached for his cheek._

"_We can disappear. You, Sabine, and I. We can disappear to some little island and live our lives in peace. No CIA, no missions, no Intersect. We can have everything. Peace, love, children of our own. A proper family. A proper life."_

"_I'm just supposed to give up on her?"_

"_Chuck," Rachel cried. "How many chances have you given her? I love Sarah, truly I do, like she was my own sister. Though it might hurt her, I can't just give up what I want."_

_Chuck could say nothing. What was there to say? Rachel simply grabbed a bag of clothes and went into the bathroom._

_A few minutes later, she emerged wearing jeans and a bra. She fiddled with a tank top. Very sadly, she began, "Okay."_

"_What?" Chuck curiously asked._

_Eyes wet with tears, Rachel said, "I don't like it, but I will respect your decision. Because in the end, I respect you. So wait for her. And I'll wait for you." After a hard, painful moment she concluded, "I may always be second best. But in this case, I'm okay with that. Because if the day ever comes that you want me, it'll be completely worth it."_

_She began to slip on her tank top as she slipped out the bedroom door._

_---------_

Rachel wiped away a tear as she gulped down a shot. "Son of a bitch turned me down but I still want to jump his bones. How screwed up is that?"

Sarah swallowed her own drink, the vodka burning down her throat. Tears welled in her own eyes. She hurt for Rachel, but for the first time in days, hoped well in her heart.

"Until you give him something definitive, one way or the other, he's gonna destroy himself pining for you," Rachel declared. "And I really don't want that."

She then reached into her jeans pocket and removed a pack of Marlboros. She lit a smoke and offered one to Sarah.

"I quit. Again," Sarah said.

"Good. It's a filthy habit." Rachel took a long drag. She then began to deal out cards for seven-card stud.

"What am I supposed to say?" Sarah asked.

"Go upstairs and tell him you love him," Rachel said like it was terribly obvious. "Or just break it off entirely. Finish this job and collect another assignment. Because the status quo can't hold any more, Sarah. Either your relationship grows, or your relationship ends. It isn't healthy for either of you to stick to this holding pattern."

Sarah checked her pocket cards. Seven of Hearts, Queen of Spades. "What are we betting with?" she asked.

Rachel coolly puffed at her cigarette. "What do you think?"

After a moment's pause, Sarah nodded slightly. "Call," she said.

Rachel unveiled the community cards. Eight of Clubs, Ten of Clubs, Ace of Spades.

"Raise," was Rachel's answer.

"It's just that easy?" Sarah asked.

"Would be, if you just grew some balls."

The turn: Ten of Diamonds.

"I'm terrified."

"You should be. He could say no. I don't think he _will, _but he could."

"It's so impractical. It's my job to protect him. If my emotions get in the way..."

"Sarah, you passed that road sign ages ago."

Sarah shook her head. Rachel made a decision.

"I'll make you a deal. Go upstairs. Strike out or fail to make a move, I move in for the full court press. He gives you a glimmer of reciprocation, I'll ease back. Let you have till the end of this mission. Then I make my move."

"That's a deal?" Sarah asked incredulously.

"How long have you known me? You're lucky I didn't cuff him to the bed and force him to like me." Then, with a chagrined shrug, "Again."

The River: The Queen of Hearts.

The agents stared. It was finally Rachel who broke the stunned silence. "Can either of us play it?"

"You assume either of us deserve to."

"To quite an exceptionally wise woman, the one person whose opinion matters isn't sitting at this table." Then, "So, Sarah, show me what you got."

Sarah showed her Queen of Spades. Two pair, tens and Queens.

Rachel stared at her pocket pair. Ten of Spades, Ace of Diamonds. Full House. A moment: "I guess you win." She tossed her cards aside, face down.

"You think so?"

"Sarah Walker," Rachel began, "you truly are a remarkable woman. But if you don't go upstairs right now and try to make things right, I can safely call you the stupidest girl alive. And I might just have to shoot you."

Sarah considered this. Then, very softly, "I can't win."

"Sure you can. You could hit the jackpot. But you won't know if you don't play."

Rachel snubbed out her cigarette. "Sarah, what choice do you have? You dick around here with me and it's just gonna be another night of brooding for him. Another night to convince himself he's destined for a life alone, burdened by the Intersect."

"Why are you suddenly shipping Chuck and Sarah?" Both agents reacted to her choice of words. Rachel quirked a brow.

"That's a reason there. Shipping? I think the nerd's rubbed off on you." Rachel lit another smoke. "Sarah, I admit, the selfish part of me really wants you to strike out. But the rational part, the part that loves you dearly, really wants you to hit a Grand Slam. Because deep down, I know you need him more than I do."

Sarah must have visibly reacted to her words, because Rachel explained.

"Heinrich did so much to make me whole again. To make me a person. While I may never fall in love again, I know I have the ability to. In just the brief time I've known Chuck, I can tell he has the same qualities. He's already made some headway with you. If you let him he can do so much more."

"Why are you saying all this to me? It's obvious you desire him." Sarah asked, still not understanding.

"Because I'm an idiot," Rachel answered. "Because I love you. I want you to be happy. And...I want him to be happy. Even if it isn't with me."

"And you're okay with that?"

Rachel shrugged. "No matter what the result, I'm going to be both brilliantly happy and completely heartbroken. But at least I'll know. And so will you." She then raised her shot glass high. "To a set of balls."

The agents touched glasses and threw back the drinks. Sarah slammed her shot glass to the table and declared, "Screw it." As she stood and moved to turn away, she stopped, then sat back down. "Okay, one more shot."

Rachel offered a sad smile. "That's my girl."

----------

The door opened quietly. Sarah slid into the room, gently closing the door behind her. With moonlight softly illuminating the room, Sarah could detect Chuck's slumbering form spread atop the bedclothes.

Sarah took pause, savoring this moment. She would never admit to anyone, but one of her favorite pastimes had become watching him sleep. It was easy enough to pull up the surveillance cameras in his bedroom from her laptop.

He always looked so sweet and at peace. He rarely experienced the nightmares this job often evoked in its agents. Agents like her. She envied him for that. Even in sleep he could let go. The mere act of watching him slumber often would send her into peaceful rest. She would curl up in her chair, the laptop on the table before her, and close her eyes...

And then, on occasion, when she wished to watch him sleep, she would catch him...relaxing. And she always switched off her screen.

Well, almost always.

"I'm sorry."

His voice nearly startled her to death.

"I was a dick earlier," Chuck continued. He was curled on his side, faced away from her. In that moment, it struck her.

He thought he was speaking to Rachel.

"I said some things, things I didn't mean."

Oh God. He'd time to think and decided he wanted Rachel after all.

"It doesn't mean I don't care about you. It doesn't mean I'll stop envisioning a future where we could be together."

Just when she was prepared for the knife to twist again...

"Sarah..." he said.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped. He still wasn't looking at her. But how did he... She didn't realize she spoke her thought aloud.

"I'd know your scent anywhere." He finally looked at her. "I am sorry."

"So am I," Sarah responded.

"We know what I'm sorry about. What about you?"

"Chuck...I know what you want from me."

"What do I want, Sarah?"

"You want to know...if this thing...beneath our cover...is ever going anywhere," she finally choked out.

"And is it?"

After several long moments that seemed like hours, Sarah offered, "Maybe."

"It's a little late for maybes."

It must have been the stress of the past two weeks. Because Sarah was completely floored by the explosion that erupted from within. But if Chuck was stunned by it, he didn't show.

"What do you want from me, Chuck?!" she demanded. "How can I prove myself to you?"

"Tell me what I need from you," he calmly replied.

Sarah paced the room like a caged panther. "Sex? It's what I offered to Bryce and James."

"I don't want sex," Chuck said. Then, slyly, he said, "That certainly came out wrong. I definitely _want _it, but I don't _need _it."

"Then what?!"

"I need what you couldn't offer them."

"Chuck...you know I suck at this. I suck at relationships, with people."

"Tough. Tell me what I need."

"Aggh!" she cried out. She continued to pace the room. "You know, don't pin all our problems on me."

"I've made mistakes," Chuck admitted. "Pushed you too hard at times when you weren't ready. Become jealous whenever Bryce blows into town. And some of my behavior the last few days...Sarah, you don't deserve the cold shoulder. Not after all you've done for me."

"You're damn right!" Sarah exclaimed. "I suck with people. And sometimes you don't make things any easier."

"I know. Now tell me what I need."

"What about what I need?" Sarah shot back. "Do you know what I need, Chuck?"

"Patience. Understanding. Love."

Sarah stopped cold at the last word.

"I love you, Sarah. Now tell me what I need."

Sarah hesitated. "Chuck, please. I'm not good at expressing...feelings. Despite that, after this long together, you must have some idea of what it is I do feel."

"Sometimes I wonder," Chuck admitted.

"How can you--!" she started to exclaim. But Chuck's look stopped her cold. Okay, so she understood.

"Tell me what I need."

"Chuck...I'm trying. Please, give me some time..."

The anguish in her voice almost made him pull back. Normally it would. But tonight he wouldn't be subject to her insecurities.

"I love you, Sarah Walker. Now tell me what I need."

She finally snapped out, if for no other reason than to shut him up, to give her a moment to think, "I love you, you stupid son of a bitch! Is that what you need?!"

Chuck blinked. Then, a silly grin appeared. "I gotta say. I don't love your tone or delivery, but the sentiment is much appreciated. Frankly, I only needed a smaller commitment. But hey, I like your initiative. And don't worry. It's only your first time saying it. You'll get better."

With another primal scream, Sarah strode to Chuck and drove her fist into his shoulder. He cried out, more startled than hurt. A moment later, he cried out again because the pain finally hit.

"Ow!"

"You son of a bitch! You've been..." Her mind struggled to formulate a cogent thought. "...flirting with her," she offered in a stage whisper.

"She started it," he whined.

"I know, but what the hell were you responding for?"

"I didn't know I needed your approval," Chuck answered.

"Well, you do!" Sarah sputtered.

"How is that fair? A few hours ago I found out that not only did you sleep with your partner, but also your mentor. How many others are there?"

"Okay, first off, lose the tone. Second, don't make me out to be some slut. And third, do you realize how hard is it to meet men outside the workplace?"

"Sorry. You're right. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter."

Sarah panted heavily, physically taxed by her outburst. "So...are we okay?"

That silly grin appeared on Chuck's face once more. In a sing-song voice he declared, "You said you love me." Then, slightly more serious but with his smirk intact, "And in case you missed it the first time, I love you, too."

For the first time, Sarah actually processed the words. A warm smile graced her features. "I...love you, too," she answered.

"Now without the hesitation."

"I love you."

"There," Chuck beamed, clapping his hands. "Was that so hard?"

Sarah thought about it. Disgust then appeared. "THAT'S what I've been so freaked about?"

"Hey, it's supposed to be easy when you mean it."

Sarah considered this. Then, with all the timidness of a school girl, she asked: "So...do we...I mean...are we supposed to...have sex now? You know...to make up?"

Chuck actually scoffed. "You wish. I may be cheap, but I'm not easy. You've only said the words. Now you gotta prove you mean them. Sarah Walker, you must romance me."

"Huh?" Sarah blinked. This was...huh?

"Yeah, I know," Chuck continued, oblivious to her confusion. "It's a two way street. Sarah Walker, prepared to be wooed."

To Chuck's confusion, when he looked back to Sarah, she seemed distressed by his refusal of sex. "But...I thought..." she tried.

"There's time enough for that later. But for now, sex isn't going to fix any of our problems." His brow scrunched in realization. "You really haven't ever had a normal relationship, have you?"

"Chuck...you've seen my high school yearbook photo. I still wore braces when I joined the Agency." For Sarah, that explained most everything.

"Wow. Okay, first off, there's only room enough for one self-deprecating sort in this relationship."

"This relationship?" she asked with a shy smile. "Where do you see it going in the immediate future?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm tired, and we have a long day tomorrow. I was thinking about going to bed."

"Oh," Sarah exclaimed, disappointed. But once she saw Chuck turn down both sides of the king sized bed, she realized, "Oh! You mean together."

"Clothes on, but that was the idea, yeah," Chuck answered, amused.

"Let me go grab a shirt..." Sarah said, moving to the door.

"There's one in my bag you can borrow," Chuck said. "You'll know it when you find it."

Sarah began to dig through the shopping bag he indicated. Sure enough, she found the shirt he mentioned. It was a maroon Stanford t-shirt identical to the one she wore while sleeping over at his apartment. It was brand new, of course, the lettering intact and the color unfaded, but the memories of past sleepovers filled her head, bringing a warmth to her chest.

"Give me a minute to change." She disappeared into the bathroom.

Chuck continued to fuss with the bed. A few moments later, Sarah reemerged, her old clothes in hand, the Stanford tee hanging down to mid-thigh like a mini-dress. But what struck Chuck was the fact she'd scrubbed her face clean. There was no makeup to cover up the damage inflicted in the fight with Rachel.

She looked positively radiant. He was sure his jaw dropped to the floor.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sarah nodded and crawled into bed, followed a moment later by Chuck. It was slightly awkward. Both lay on their sides, turned towards each other. There was nowhere to look other than the eyes of the person next to them.

"Chuck...are we okay?" she asked again.

Chuck thought about his answer. "Do you truly love me?"

"Yes."

"Then we will be," Chuck decided. "But you can't hide from me. I expect honesty."

"Chuck," she started, "I promise to try. But our situation hasn't changed. I'm still your handler, you're still my asset. And until that changes, my number one priority will always be your safety."

"Sarah..." he tried to deny.

"No, Chuck," she strongly interrupted. "That's my condition. I promise, if you show me some patience, I'll try to become more open. And if you truly value honesty, know I'm showing it now. I have to keep you safe, first and foremost. I can't bear to lose you."

Just when she thought he was going to argue, Chuck smiled softly. "Well, that certainly is honesty."

Suddenly, underneath the sheets, Chuck felt a small hand take his. Slender fingers played with his.

"After everything that's happened, how can you be so easy about this?"

"Sarah...all is not forgiven. We've both done things recently that we must make up for. This isn't easy. It won't be easy. But the truth is...you had me at Vicki Vale."

Chuck watched in awe as the blush appeared at her cheeks. He wasn't privy to it for long. Very slowly, Sarah slowly turned in bed, putting her back to Chuck's chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hand rested atop his. Delicately, he leaned into her neck and breathed her in.

"Gardenias," he said.

"What?"

"That's your scent."

Her blush intensified. "Think now that we've made our declarations that we'll start acting halfway normal again?"

"I sure as hell hope so. Our act was getting kinda old. If we were a TV show, we'd be hemorrhaging viewers."

"Good thing we're not, huh?" After a few moments of silence, Sarah softly asked, "Chuck? You _do _want sex, right?"

"God yes."

"Good. Because I'm really fantastic in bed. Among other places."

Chuck groaned into her shoulder. "Don't say that."

Sarah couldn't help the grin that played at her lips. "And it's been a while for me. I've got desires and frustrations to work out."

"Stop it."

"Know how good I am with a knife? Pales in comparison to my sexual prowess."

"Well, so long as you're better than you are at frying a corndog or making yogurt."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a woman of many talents. Food prep just isn't one of them."

"Talk like that and you won't get to experience my talents."

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

As they drifted into silence, Sarah was pleased to note the movements of Chuck's hand. His fingers danced lightly across her stomach. She smiled. Maybe he wasn't so averse to playing after all...

But as the moments passed, Sarah began to feel frustration. She expected his fingers to dance lower and lift her shirt upwards. But yet, his hand made no move to do so. It was so...Sarah wasn't quite sure.

Finally, Sarah could stand it no longer. She had to know... Slowly turning in Chuck's arm, she met his wondering gaze. She leaned in and delicately tasted his lips. When sure she had his attention—

"Maybe you will get to experience my talents."

She moved atop Chuck, straddling his hips. Very slowly, she lowered her upper body down upon his, until her lips hovered above his. For a moment they simply stared at the other, seemingly marveling at the situation they finally found themselves in.

Then...Sarah tasted him again. Slow, languid, just...savoring. But the pace soon picked up. Her actions became more fervent, and Chuck responded in kind. His hands came up to gently cup her face.

No. His response was wrong. That isn't what she needed to know. She needed...an idea struck her.

Subtly, she began to writhe atop his hips. Sarah took enormous delight as he moaned into her mouth.

"Take me, Chuck. I know you want to. I can _feel _it." She wiggled slightly against his hips for emphasis.

"Sarah..." he groaned.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Chuck. You want what you want."

At her words, something seemed to click for Chuck. Sarah let out a brief startled cry as he flipped them over, pinning Sarah to the bed. She smirked, sure of his next action. Instead—

He simply leaned in and kissed her sweetly. A kiss full of promise...just not for tonight.

"Sarah...I love you. But next time you try to seduce me, seduce _me, _not your mark."

He then placed a soft kiss atop her forehead before gathering Sarah into his arms.

To say she was stunned by his response would be an understatement. But then, Chuck was dead on in his analysis. Like Rachel before her, Chuck turned her down. And that only made Sarah want him more.

As she lay cradled in Chuck's arms, she marveled at the man who held her. Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herd extraordinaire, rebuffed her advance. Sarah Walker, CIA Operative and legendary seductress, threw her greatest weapon at him – the equivalent of a nuclear warhead – and got shot down.

Surely Chuck felt it as Sarah quietly chuckled in his arms. But he didn't ask. While she had long suspected it, Sarah now knew with absolute certainty. Chuck Bartowski was something completely different. Never before had she been turned down. But now that she had, Sarah decided it was the most marvelous thing ever.

Chuck Bartowski effectively disarmed her.

The revelation both terrified and astounded her. For so many years, she had grown accustomed, even comforted, by the predictability of men. Even men like James and Bryce. When in doubt, when cornered, there was always one trick in her bag that she could use to extricate her from any situation. Her sexuality was the ever-present wild card.

He wanted her, Sarah knew that. But he wouldn't merely indulge because she was offering. It had to be...right.

"Son of a bitch," she softly breathed. He never ceased to amaze.

Well then, Sarah decided. If he was going to play it that way, Sarah would wait until the time _was _right. Then she would once more deploy her weapon of mass destruction.

Sarah knew, without question, when that moment finally arrived, Chuck Bartowski wouldn't stand a chance. With a soft, content smile on her face, her last thought before drifting to sleep was—

"_I can hardly wait."_

END PART

Well, my little snozzwangers? Am I forgiven?


	19. The Morning After

_Welcome back my friends, to the show that never ends…it just goes on two-month hiatuses. After putting to rest a lingering family issue - and playing around with various Chuck and personal projects - Daddy Liam's back, my little weasels, with a new chapter of Innocence and a desire (for now) to get this bad boy done. Or at the very least a desire to fulfill a promise to a lady (you know who you are). Anywho, I recommend going back and reacquainting yourselves with previous chapters. Lord knows I had to. _

_And hey, if you're wondering: "What projects is Liam working on now? Or how can I check out the wide array of high quality fiction he's put out in the past?" then wonder no more. Feel free to pop on over to my profile page to check out the status of my past, current and future fiction projects, as well as my creepy avatar pictures (yes, I finally figured out how to update my profile and avatar). _

So sit back, relax, snuggle up with your girl, and enjoy Chapter 19 of "The Road to Innocence".

_Oh, and as always, props to BillAtWork. I know I've said it before, but at this point, he deserves a co-"Story By" credit for his work on RTI. And just because I'm a good guy, he'll literally get it._

--------------

The Road to Innocence

Chapter Nineteen – The Morning After

Story By: Liam and BillAtWork

Written By: Liam

--------------

In the wee small hours before the dawn, Rachel continued to sit at her table in the Great Room, alone. She puffed idly at yet another cigarette – she'd gone through nearly a whole pack this night – as she played a game of solitaire.

Maybe it was for the best, she thought, if Sarah won him now. The man was so...it was becoming increasingly difficult to think around him. And she needed to think clearly right now. She needed to focus on the mission at hand, getting that laptop, finding Sabine.

When Chuck was around, her head got all foggy. She lost focus. And assuming Sarah didn't blow it – which was a huge and possibly erroneous assumption – the biggest distraction on her quest would be removed.

Boys and romance. Two complications she didn't need. So it really would be for the best if Sarah didn't find a way to screw up. If she and Chuck actually were beginning their happily ever after.

Rachel sighed. Yeah. Right. For the best.

----------

Sarah groaned as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds into her eyes. Hey, wait a second. Where the hell was her mask...?

Suddenly the memories of the previous night came flooding back into her mind. Tears, a few shots of vodka, and... Oh dear God, she professed her love. And it felt...fantastic.

A wide smile broke out over Sarah's face. She buried her face into the pillow to contain the giggle that threatened to spill forth. It was unbelievable to her that after everything, Chuck could still welcome her into his bed. The only rational explanation was that she was dreaming.

As Sarah turned over to find Chuck, intent on disproving her theory, her worst fear came to life. For the king sized bed she was certain she shared with him the night before was devoid of the man she sought.

"Chuck?!" she called out, not bothering to mask her panic.

The bedroom opened and Chuck slid inside, a tray of food in hand. "Hey there!" he called out. "Good morning!"

Sarah quickly checked her panic and offered a "Good morning" in return. She watched curiously as Chuck approached the bed with the tray, a tray that contained a bagel slathered with cream cheese, a half piece of grapefruit, and a cup of steaming coffee. And just to cap it off, a single white gardenia.

"What's all this?"

"Breakfast in bed," Chuck stated, as though it were terribly obvious. Which he thought it should be. After all, food...bed.

"Uh..." Sarah drawled.

"What? Has no one ever brought you breakfast in bed before?"

"Well, uh, not in a romantic sense," Sarah said hesitantly. "More of a, 'We gotta refuel', sort of...yeah. I'm just gonna stop talking."

Sarah trailed off, embarrassed. Frankly, she wasn't sure what she could talk about with him. It seemed, however, that Chuck had no such issues.

"Yeah, well, we'll get to that. In due time, anyway." Wow. He certainly was...brazen this morning. "In the meantime, this is more of a _'I know you probably haven't been taking care of yourself since my abrupt kidnapping, so I'm gonna feed you'_ type breakfast."

Sarah adjusted in bed and allowed Chuck to place the tray over her legs. She shyly tucked her hair behind her ears, still unsure how exactly to deal with this "morning after". She ultimately settled on neutral conversation.

"So...you're not having anything?"

"Already ate," Chuck smiled. "I stayed in the main suite so I wouldn't disturb you. Looked like you need the rest."

"And, uh, the gardenia?"

"I didn't think that needed an explanation either," Chuck pouted.

Sarah nibbled on the bagel as an uncomfortable silence fell over the bedroom. Well, she found it uncomfortable. Judging from the way Chuck lounged back in bed, his eyes closed, a content little smile at his lips, he didn't find it uncomfortable in the least.

She took a deep pull of coffee, hoping the caffeine would somehow give her insight, or better yet, courage. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Jeez, just a few hours ago she told her asset she was in love with him. What was the appropriate morning after response?

"You're freaking out, aren't you?" Chuck asked, interrupting her musings. She turned to find his soft brown eyes fixed upon her.

"What?" she quipped, trying to play it off. "Freaking out, I don't...Oh God, Chuck, tell me what I'm supposed to do," she pleaded, clearly freaking out.

"Relax, for starters. Jeez, Sarah, I'm not some Bosnian assassin who'll kill you in your sleep."

Sarah took a deep, cleansing breath. It didn't work near enough.

"Look," Chuck sympathetically started, "you're confused. This is new for you. I'm not exactly a pro at relationships either. Frankly, we have more issues than _The New Yorker_."

"So what's the point of trying?" Sarah asked sadly.

Chuck clucked his tongue and shook his head. "You know, Sarah Walker, once I'm done with you, you won't dare ask such a cynical question again."

"Chuck..."

"Sarah..." he teased, drawling out her name in the exasperated same tone. Then, quite seriously he said, "We have work to do. It won't be easy, but if we can promise each other honesty, we _can_ make it work."

"There are still so many problems," Sarah said. "_Practical_ problems, such as if Beckman ever found out..."

"There are more pressing problems than Beckman right now," Chuck countered. "Issues between us, with this job. Let's focus on that before we worry about Beckman."

"I like worrying about Beckman," Sarah said. "Beckman can have me reassigned and you shipped to a bunker."

Chuck blinked. "Jeez. You're a very 'down' person, has anyone ever told you that?"

Before Sarah could offer a protest, Chuck leaned in and kissed her. When they broke apart several long moments later, Sarah had a dazed gleam in her eyes. Then, inexplicably, she elbowed him in the gut.

"Ow!" Chuck cried out. "What--!"

"Don't think a little sweet talk will make me forget you've been _flirting _with her!" Sarah reminded.

Chuck gingerly rubbed his stomach and pouted. "Like I said. Issues to work out."

---------------

Ellie awoke shortly after nine. She stumbled into the main suite area in search of coffee.

But alas, there was no java brewing in the coffeepot in the kitchen. Ellie grumbled and went to work preparing a pot.

As coffee began to percolate, Ellie wandered into the living area. On route to the television, she happened to notice a pillow and rumpled sheets on one of the couches. Obviously Sarah's bed. But where was Sarah?

Ellie turned when the main doors swung open. Rachel entered, hungover and looking like crap warmed over.

"Where have you been?"

"Getting my drink on," the agent answered. "And not so loud, 'kay? There are a couple little men in my head playing the bongos quite insistently."

"Where's Sarah?" Ellie asked.

Rachel paused. "Uh..."

Ellie wasn't sure she liked her hesitation. "There something you want to tell me?"

"Let me check my bedroom before I decide how to answer."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. She pushed past Rachel and moved towards the other bedroom. Rachel briefly considered stopping her.

"Screw it," she muttered. "She's gonna find out anyway." Then, loudly, she called after Ellie, "Hey! Did you get coffee going?"

Ellie threw open the bedroom doors without so much as a knock. She found Sarah and Chuck sitting in bed, her trying to clean up cream cheese spilt on her shirt, him trying to muffle a laugh. Both looked up at the intrusion, but only Sarah wore a look of abject terror. Chuck seemed entirely calm.

Ellie observed the sight silently for several long moments. Without a word, she simply shook her head and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

She returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Taking a seat at the table near Rachel, she drank a long, slow sip. The agent noticed the sullen expression on Ellie's face and glumly sipped her own coffee.

"Man, I hate being right," Rachel mumbled.

----------

Ten minutes later, Sarah quietly slinked from the bedroom and grabbed some clothes. Neither Ellie or Rachel purposely paid her much mind.

Ten minutes after that, Chuck emerged, freshly showered and wearing a bathrobe. He politely said good morning to Ellie, but had difficulty meeting Rachel's gaze. He poured two cups of coffee and returned to the bedroom.

After another ten minutes, both Chuck and Sarah emerged, the latter obviously having just concluded her own shower. Both were dressed and appeared quite timid now. The world outside the bedroom a far more uncertain place.

"Are things settled?" Rachel quietly asked Sarah.

Sarah glanced back at Chuck. He was pouring another cup of coffee and joining his sister at the dining table. "Not yet. But I think they will be."

"So, I guess for now I should back off," Rachel mourned.

"No," Sarah said decisively. "For always. He's mine."

Rachel smiled sadly. "Look at you," she said, mustering all her strength to be proud and impressed. "Finally manning up and growing a pair. Atta girl."

Sarah smiled slightly in return, perhaps more pleased by her own recent actions than Rachel's compliment.

"Are we ready to get to work?" Rachel asked of the group.

"No," Ellie flatly stated. "Not until I gain of grasp of the current situation." At her tone, the others fell silent and dutifully gave her their full attention. It was a natural response to authority.

"First," Ellie began, "I must say that I'm aghast that my brother would even entertain anything remotely resembling a romantic notion towards either of you. Second, am I correct to assume there's been some level of consummation with one of these relationships?"

"Uh..." Chuck drawled, unsure how to respond. Sarah was no help. She stood frozen in place, wide eyed, horrified.

"It's a simple question," Ellie said.

"We've, uh, reached a preliminary understanding," Chuck lamely offered.

"Oh, that's lovely," Ellie snapped. "Not only are you buddies with your kidnapper, but you're also getting action from the woman who _didn't _protect you from your kidnapper. I mean seriously, Chuck, what the hell? You must realize how big a mistake choosing either of them is."

Rachel lifted her coffee cup and tried to look wounded. It didn't take much effort. "We're sitting right here." She took a sip and grumbled. "Jeez. I thought we were bonding."

"Yes, I find your job interesting," Ellie admitted. "And you're very nice for a kidnapping government assassin."

Rachel shrugged. She'd take compliments any way she could get them.

Sarah, however, didn't take it as well. Chuck could see the reaction. She was going into retreat mode – first emotionally and psychologically. Then shortly it would be followed by an actual physical retreat.

"Ellie, stop it."

It took a few moments to realize where those words came from. It was actually when Sarah's head whipped around to gape at him that Chuck realized he spoke. And then, suddenly, he was rolling.

"Look, you're pissed. That's fine. You're protective of your baby brother and I love you for it. But just stop. This is Sarah you're talking about and she doesn't deserve your anger."

Rachel coughed, none too subtly.

"And neither does Rachel," Chuck quickly added. "Yeah, it's an incredibly screwed up dynamic we have going on. And this is an incredible weird circumstance we're in, certainly weirder than usual."

Unconsciously, Sarah nodded in agreement at that truth.

"What you need to understand," Chuck continued, "is that not only do I trust these women, I happen to like them. Now I know you have issues with them, but you're just gonna have to get over it. Because for the time being, they're a part of my life. As for the future, I have no idea where or if Rachel fits in."

The agents each reacted to those words.

"But Sarah...she's my handler. And long after this mission is over, she's gonna be here, with me, in my life. If you can't handle that, then tell me now, because, well..."

Chuck felt his energy sapped. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I need you to get along with her. It's that simple."

There was no mistaking the gravity of his words. He left no room for argument.

Sarah was stunned by his words and tone as he spoke to his sister. In her heart, she felt equal parts warmth and remorse. It meant so much that Chuck would stand up to his sister in her defense, but Sarah knew she wasn't deserving of it. And she'd loathe herself to her dying day if she were the cause of a rift between the siblings.

And Ellie...Ellie was simply devastated. While she was coming to appreciate Rachel to be a descent person – and even rationally knew that Sarah was the same – she couldn't quite reconcile their actions. Not yet. And while she knew her brother's capacity for forgiveness, she couldn't believe he would so readily side with them.

"Fine. Whatever," she murmured, stepping away from the crowd. She needed room to think, to breath.

With no easy segue, Rachel quietly asked, "Can we do some prep work for tonight? Chuck?"

Chuck snapped from his trance, drawing his eyes away from Ellie and onto Rachel. If his sister was having a rocky time, then Rachel was having a...bouldery?...time. The redhead's eyes were bloodshot from a hard night of drinking. And she appeared to have trouble meeting his eyes.

"Rachel..." he tried.

She would have none of it. "Can you get us into Harris' room undetected?"

Clearly Rachel needed this meeting to be about business. Chuck nodded slightly and grabbed his laptop.

"Now that I'm tapped in, I can easily manipulate the hotel security cameras."

"How about the door locks?" Sarah asked.

Chuck shook his head. "No way. It presents too many problems." He reached into his pocket and retrieved his room keycard. "Standard hotel keycard. These things are printed for each guest, encoded with the information to unlock their door. Once the guest checks out, the keycard is destroyed and the hotel uses an algorithmic program to create a new code for each door's locking mechanism."

"Can you print out a copy of Harris' keycard?" Rachel asked.

"Doubtful," Chuck answered. "I can access all the current room codes from this laptop, but there's no way to associate a particular code with a room. It'd be trial and error. And there are over 800 rooms in this hotel."

"Can you assign a new code for the door? Print off a new keycard?" Sarah asked.

"Sure, I could. But that presents another problem. Harris' card wouldn't work anymore. From what Rachel says, he's probably the type who'd get suspicious if that happened. And if we don't find the laptop on the first pass, that would be an issue."

"So..." Rachel drawled. "In order to access Harris' room, we're either gonna have to break down the door, or—"

"Steal a keycard," Sarah finished. Then, together, the two women shouted—

"Not me!"

Rachel quirked a brow, grinned at Sarah. She spat out the words just a fraction of an instant sooner. Sarah groaned, said, "Oh, come on!"

"Hey," Rachel defended, "you lost by the uniform rules of "Not Me" we established a long time ago. It's on you."

Chuck glanced curiously between the two women, uncomprehending. "Who whah?" he asked.

Grimacing, Sarah informed him, "I'm the one who has to lift a keycard."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Oh, the usual way," Sarah reluctantly admitted. "A little subterfuge."

And just because she felt a little pissy at the moment, Rachel added, "And by showing a little cleavage."

Sarah glared. Chuck blinked. Once more he brilliantly asked, "Who whah?"

END PART


	20. Dry Run

_Alright, I know it's been so long since I posted on this fic. But I'm trying to get back to it. I wish I'd come back with a stronger installment, more relevant to the plotline, but this is where I was going before my…hiatus. With Part 21, it should be a rush to the finish. Starting with this part, I hope to crank out new parts every ten days or so. _

_Oh, and be sure to check out my profile page for my others works. In my humble opinion, I've written a few good ones lately. Please check them out and review._

----------------

The Road to Innocence

Chapter Twenty: Dry Run

Story By: Liam and BillAtWork

Written By: Liam

----------------

From her spot on the couch, Ellie quietly sipped coffee and intently studied the scene playing out before her. But her focus wasn't on the soap opera playing on the nearby television screen, but rather the one playing out by the dining table.

As Chuck sat at the table, working on the laptop, Rachel and Sarah stood by his side, one agent over each shoulder, intently focused on the screen and listening to his words. And as Ellie watched, two things were plainly clear.

The first, this was not her little brother. At least, not the one she knew. The man she watched now was…Ellie wasn't quite sure what adjective to insert. Though not having the cool, collected air of either agent, Chuck seemed oddly…comfortable…with the task at hand. Ellie would like to think that was due exclusively with the fact he was operating within his domain – computers. And while she knew that played a partial role, she also knew that her brother was slowly embracing this new world he found himself in.

For that, Ellie suspected she would always bear resentment towards the two women.

Second, she could clearly and painfully see the love each woman had for her brother. This time it was Sarah who idly played with the soft curls at the back of Chuck's neck. And in a further reversal of roles, it was Rachel who cast surreptitious glances at this action, envy and remorse not so subtly imprinted on her features.

Well crap-dee-do-da.

Ellie sighed heavily, drawing the attention of Rachel. The redhead excused herself from the group and approached her. "C'mon, Ellie, we have things to do."

"We do?" Ellie asked, surprised.

"Yup. Get dressed. Preferably in something with a plunging neckline. We're gonna give you a crash course in Inducement and Infiltration of Enemy Personnel."

"Huh?"

"Seduction school. Be sure to grab a pad and pencil."

--------------

Indeed Ellie wore something with a plunging neckline. A purple knee-length dress with matching heels.

"Fit this into your ear," Rachel said, giving Ellie an earpiece. "Two way comm," she explained. "I can hear you and those around you. Conversely, you can hear me."

Ellie fitted the tiny device into her left ear. After executing a sound check, Ellie asked, "So what's the purpose of this again?"

"I told you, two-way communication."

"No, I mean this little exercise."

"Tonight, if things go well, your role will be minimal," Rachel explained. "And in our business, Plan A never goes to plan. So when the proverbial poo hits the fan, we're gonna need you."

"For?"

"Information inducement through subterfuge and amorous interactions."

"Huh?"

"Use your feminine wiles to pump him for information."

Ellie stared. "I'm not sleeping with anybody."

"Then lucky for you, in this game, you often don't need to. Frankly, nine times out of ten, all it takes is a short skirt, pushup bra, and a wink to get whatever intel is needed."

It was as good a moment as any to broach the subject. "What about the game Sarah's about to play?" Ellie asked.

Rachel shrugged. "When it comes to the game, there's no better player than Sarah Walker."

Ellie frowned, in no way comforted, ever more concerned by her brother's choice in women.

----------------

Up in the suite, Chuck and Sarah engaged in their own conversation.

"You know what I have to do," Sarah reminded him.

"Yeah, I know," Chuck acknowledged.

"I'm not asking you to like it."

"Good. Because I don't."

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"Watching and listening to you seduce another man the day after professing your love to me? Pfft."

"Chuck…" Sarah said, exasperated.

"Can't you let me piss and moan for a little while?"

"No, I can't," Sarah strongly said. "You wanted honesty, well here it is. I can't work like this. We're in these situations too often. Situations where I must work a mark. Chuck, I need to know that when I do this that I have your support, not your jealousy."

Chuck considered this. "So what happens when I have to seduce a mark?"

"Oh, I'll beat her ass," slipped out before she could rein it in. Sarah slapped a palm over her mouth, not believing what she just said. Particularly at this moment.

Chuck, on the other hand, was grinning like a little monkey. And then, quite suddenly, he realized, "The parking lot!"

Sarah groaned. Of course he'd figure it out _now._

"You two were fighting over me!" Sarah mumbled something unintelligible. "What?" Chuck questioned.

"Maybe a little!" she snapped. Sarah didn't think anything could wipe that dopey grin from his face, so firmly entrenched was it. This was completely the wrong time for him to be fixated upon…

"Two badass secret agent hotties were fighting over me," Chuck marveled.

"Can we get back to the point?" Sarah asked, only a bit annoyed.

"Hold on, let me have this moment. It's one I never expected to have."

Chuck took several moments to bask in the revelation. That goofy smile was going absolutely nowhere. After about a minute, Sarah finally asked, "Is the moment over?"

"Never, but go ahead."

"Chuck, I need to be assured that you'll…"

Chuck leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Sarah responded, bringing her hand up to his cheek.

"I don't like it," Chuck said once they separated. "I'll never like it. But sometimes we gotta do things we don't like. Right?"

"Right," Sarah agreed.

They stood there a moment, contemplating their words. Finally, Chuck declared, "Okay, so everything I just said was crap."

"Me too. Except for the part where I'll beat up any mark you might seduce. That stands."

"We make a fine couple, don't we?"

"So we are a couple?"

Chuck smiled that smile of his. His hand found hers. Their fingers entwined. "Was there any doubt?"

She smiled and buried her face into his chest. His chin rested lightly atop her head. They quietly considered what the evening would bring.

----------------

"_What do I do when, you know, I need to end it? Because I'm not going up to his room."_

"_Don't worry. I'll step in at the proper moment. Just remember to chase after me, okay?"_

Ellie frowned at the curious comment. But she tried to put it out of mind and focus on the task at hand. That task was to put the seduction moves on The Mark. Get him to bend to her will. To, well…

He was attractive. Perhaps mid-30s, tall, lanky, with short cropped brown hair and matching brown eyes. Clad in a tastefully expensive business suit. Someone Ellie could conceivably go for in real life. Though she was slightly put off by any man that felt a need to hang around a hotel bar drinking at 11 am.

"Hello," Ellie smiled. The man looked up at her voice. His eyes gave her a quick once-over. It was immediately apparent that he liked what he saw. For some reason, that sent a thrill up Ellie's spine.

"Hello," the man drawled.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"_Ohh. Nice," Rachel's voice said in her ear. "Forward, direct. Make your interest clear. And maybe flash a little leg, too."_

Ellie slid onto the stool neighboring the man, making sure her dress slid an inch or two up her thigh. It's when she coughed lightly that his gaze returned to her face.

"My name is…Jessie," Ellie told him.

"Tommy," the man said in turn.

"Remember the objective, Ellie. Turn the guy into putty. Manipulate without being known."

"What brings you to Miami, Tommy?"

"Business. You?"

"Feels like a roller coaster," Ellie laughed. Even though he didn't get the joke, Tommy laughed along with her.

------------

"Why do you trust her?" Sarah asked. "I'm not sure I do."

They lay on the bed, side by side, staring at the ceiling.

"Because she's like you," Chuck said. "Only without a profanity filter."

Sarah stared at him incredulously. "She's not like me. She betrayed everything we as agents believe in."

"Well, yeah," Chuck agreed. "But you gotta admit, her reasons were just." Sarah continued to stare. She didn't have to admit anything. "Tell me you wouldn't do something completely insane and desperate to save someone you loved," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.

Sarah turned her gaze back to the ceiling. "Fair enough," was all she offered. They lay there quietly for several minutes. Then, suddenly, Sarah said, "I cuss."

Chuck looked at her, amused. "Sarah, I can count on one hand the number of times I've heard you cuss…"

"I cuss like a sailor," Sarah insisted. "Or I did when I was younger. Ask Rachel. Or Carina, next time she blows into town."

Chuck grinned. "Seriously? You cuss?"

"Damn straight."

They stared at each other, each trying to hold a straight face. Sarah was the first to crack up. Chuck was only an instant behind. "When did you two meet?" Chuck asked upon recovering his breath.

Sarah sighed and turned back towards the ceiling. "At the Academy," she said. "She was…one of my first real friends. I was never popular in school. And at the Academy everyone knew I was Graham's pet project. That didn't really endear me to anyone. But Rachel befriended me anyway."

"She was a good friend?"

Sarah smiled, just a bit. "Yeah. She was."

------------

"…and the guy says, 'you can't do that. This is a non-smoking area.''

That was it? That was the joke? That joked sucked. But Ellie laughed like it was the funniest thing she ever heard.

_"Good. Men love it when you laugh at their jokes. And point of fact, he botched the set-up. It's supposed to be a duck, not a pig that sat on the priest's lap. And the stripper is supposed to be French, not English."_

Ellie erupted into genuine laughter, getting the joke now that Rachel had filled her in. Tommy laughed right along with her.

"It's a good joke, right?"

"Fantastic," Ellie assured.

Tommy began to fiddle with his liquor glass. Ellie saw what was coming from a mile away. "Listen," he began. "I got a few hours to kill before my meeting. Tomorrow I have to head back home. Would you, uh, like to have some fun?"

"What did you have in mind?"

_"That sounds like my cue."_

"I don't know about yours, but my suite has a great view of the beach. Maybe you'd like to come up and see?"

Tommy's hand dipped to her leg, his fingers trailed along her bare thigh. Ellie nearly jumped out of her skin. "Hand! Hand on my thigh!"

"Jessie!" a booming voice sounded. Both turned to find Rachel striding towards them, clearly angry. Ellie was so startled by the sight, she actually recoiled. "How could you?!" Rachel screamed. And she really wasn't expecting it when Rachel reared back and slapped her across the cheek. Ellie's head snapped to the right. She instantly brought a hand up to touch her tender face and work a crick from her jaw.

"Ow!" Ellie shouted, momentarily slipping from character. "What was that for?"

Rachel, however, stayed in character. "Are you kidding me? Not only do I wake up to find you missing from the bed we share, but you're down at the hotel bar picking up strangers!" She leaned in and stage whispered. "And a man no less! I thought you said you were done with their kind."

Rachel quirked a brow, a clear message. Get back in character.

"I, uh," Ellie stammered. "I was weak. Forgive me…baby."

Tears began to well in Rachel's eyes. She fidgeted anxiously, distraught. Ellie couldn't help but note she was a pretty good actress. And for the briefest of moments, she wondered how far her acting skills stretched. How much of Rachel was but an act?

Any further thoughts were cut off, for the situation got even crazier as Rachel suddenly palmed Ellie's cheeks in her hands and planted a kiss on the brunette. Ellie stood there, frozen, mortified. And was that cheese Danish she tasted?

Eventually, Rachel broke the kiss. She gazed lovingly at Ellie for a moment before slapping the hell out of her again. "I can't look at you!" she cried. She stormed off towards the elevators and yelled "And to think I believed you when you said it wasn't just a phase!"

Ellie gave Tommy an apologetic shrug and pursued her 'girlfriend'. He watched after their fleeing forms and said, "Man. That was so hot."

Rachel was holding the elevator door open when Ellie found her. "Not bad," she said. "I give you a solid 'B' for that performance. Still need a little work on your physical cues, but…"

"What the hell was that?" Ellie shouted. She stabbed the button for the penthouse suite before turning to face Rachel. The redhead feigned innocence. "Was it necessary to slap me?"

"It's a role," Rachel said, "and I'm a method actor. I was channeling the emotion of high school when I caught my boyfriend messing with Chrissy Lorenz. That ignorant slut."

"It hurt!"

"Really? I tried to dial it back. But you know, when I get into a performance…"

"And what the hell was with the kiss?"

"Like I said, method actor. And my character is very emotionally conflicted."

"You're nuts," Ellie insisted.

Rachel folded her arms and leaned against the elevator wall. "I'm completely justified in my reaction. This isn't the first time you've cheated on me. And I forgave you for that thing with the waitress at Shoney's." Rachel harrumphed. "It's what I get for opening my heart."

Ellie ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. "That exercise was completely pointless."

"Really?" Rachel asked, in a manner that completely disagreed with Ellie's assessment. "What was the guy's name?"

"Thomas Lee Harrison."

"Age and occupation?"

"Thirty-two. He's an insurance agent for Priority Global, based out of their home office in San Francisco."

"Place of birth?"

"Chicago, he claims. Which jives with his love for the Cubs. Plus, he has a hint of the midwest in his voice."

"Anything else?"

"Fan of classic rock, the Rambo movies, and good whiskey. Seems to be a leg man, judging from his eye movement and hand placement. Also the tan line around his ring finger indicates he's married, which kinda makes him skeevy."

Rachel smiled. "All that in twenty minutes. Another hour you would've had his social security number, the deed to his house and Porsche, and his bank PIN number."

"He lives in an apartment and drives a classic Challenger," Ellie absently said.

"See? You're a natural. If I wasn't burned by the CIA I'd gladly write you a letter of reference."

Ellie perked a bit with pride. "Really?"

"No, not really." Ellie deflated a bit. "I wouldn't wish this job on my worst enemy, much less someone I like."

Ellie didn't know how to respond to that. So she chose to say, "I still can't believe you kissed me."

"Well, I had to compare between siblings. Interesting note, you both use a little too much tongue. Other than that, quite nice."

Ellie groaned. "You are insane."

Rachel crossed her arms and looked away. "To think I gave you my college sweater."

----------------

"So how is this gonna work?" Chuck questioned. They continued to lay on the bed, only now much closer together. Their heads resting on the pillows only an inch apart.

"Work is work, everything else is everything else," Sarah answered.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…on the job, as Casey would put it, the Walker chocolate can't be dipped into the Bartowski peanut butter. Anytime else is fair game."

Chuck stared. "Did you just channel John Casey?"

Sarah frowned. "Ugh. I think I did." They stared at each other for several long moments. Sarah finally sighed and slowly sat up. "I should get dressed. Big night tonight."

Chuck watched as Sarah sauntered towards the bathroom. As she reached the doorway, she looked back briefly, offering a tiny smile. "Yeah," he said. "Big night."

* * *

END PART


End file.
